


The Calculation

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Bratva Oliver, F/M, but not AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three words and a wedding invitation.  Set between seasons two and three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic grew out of [a prompt fill](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/post/114766943982/the-envelope-was-cream-colored-and-thick-covered) I wrote earlier this year, one that just burrowed its way into my mind. The title and the chapter headings are from the song of the same name by Regina Spektor. Definitely give it [a listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dd2ItwgqZUo)!
> 
> Many thanks to FanMomMer, callistawolf, closer2fine and MachaWicket for their cheerleading and advice while I worked on this fic.
> 
> One quick note: this is Arrow fic number thirty for me, amazingly enough. I really love Oliver and Felicity together and I love writing them, and I’m so grateful to all the people who have read my fics. Thank you for coming along with me on all these different rides, and I hope you keep riding shotgun with me for a long time. And now, on with the show!

**_So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces_**  
And it did our thinking while we lived our lives  
It counted up our feelings and divided them up even  
And it called that calculation perfect love

XXX

There was some study, in psychology or sociology or something like that, which said it took twenty-one days to form a new habit. If you wanted to start exercising or quit smoking, you had to work for three weeks to make it stick. 

Felicity wondered how long it took to break a habit. Because it had been three weeks since she had returned from Lian Yu and four weeks since she was Oliver’s EA, and yet, here she was. Blinking as she looked around the lobby of Starling City’s main post office, in the middle of picking up the mail from Oliver’s post office box. Just like she had on every Monday and Thursday for the last ten months.

Why was she here? It wasn’t like Oliver didn’t have plenty of time now to pick up his own mail from the P.O. box he had for ultra-secretive reasons. Because he was jobless and broke--or as broke as a billionaire could be, apparently? She wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe it had something to do with not having many liquid assets and all his money being tied up in things like houses and horses and other things that started with an H? 

Frowning, Felicity looked at the wall of tiny little doors, each with an even-tinier window that let you see if you had mail or not. It wasn’t that she minded helping Oliver by picking up his mail. And she certainly had the time, since she was also jobless. Yet . . . she wasn’t sure why it had taken her this long to realize how much her life had fallen into a pattern. A pattern that had been blown out of the water three weeks ago. 

_I love you_.

With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned her keychain around, finding the small key that fit into the lock on Oliver’s box. She was here, she might as well pick up the mail. And then, when she saw Oliver, she would give him back the key and let him know he could get his own mail from now on. It wasn’t that she was mad at him, or resented the task. It was just . . . she wasn’t his assistant any more. 

Not that she knew what she was to Oliver. 

There wasn’t much in the box: a few manila envelopes and one thick, cream-colored envelope, so covered in Cyrillic-lettered stamps that Felicity could barely read anything on it. Not that she could read Russian, which was what the return address looked to be written in. 

Although with Google Translate, she could at least figure it out--

She took all the mail and shoved it into her bag, before closing the little door and locking it decisively. Mail was private and the property of the addressee. If Oliver was picking up her mail, he wouldn’t be thinking about who it was from and wondering what it meant. 

Once upon a time, she had told Walter Steele that she hated mysteries. She might have been the only girl to not enjoy the Nancy Drew books, because she never had any desire to read about Nancy’s baby blue roadster (and just what was a roadster?) and ‘tomboyish’ George and ‘plump’ Bess. No, Felicity wanted to skip to the end and find out the solution to the mystery, but the solution never made sense without any of the details. So rather than drive herself mad by either subjecting herself to needless story or a mystery that still felt unsolved, Felicity skipped the yellow-spined books and checked out back issues of _Wired_ from the local branch of the Las Vegas Public Library. 

Nothing in the seventeen years since those days had changed Felicity’s mind. She still hated mysteries. But in the last two years, ever since she met Oliver, she had learned patience. Or forbearance. Whatever quality it was that made her bite her tongue when the questions crowded her mind so thickly that they almost poured out of her mouth.

Who taught Oliver to use a bow and arrow? What were those first days on the island like? Which of his many scars was the first? Why did the dragon tattoo on his back look so strangely unfinished? How had he learned how to fly a plane if he was on a deserted island? Or became a member of the Russian mob? Became the cold, brutal killer who covered it up by acting like the same old Ollie Queen? 

Somehow, though, Felicity had managed to not ask. Because any time she tried . . . she didn’t like seeing how Oliver reacted. She hated it, in fact, because it made her heart feel torn in two. 

_These were five years! Five years . . . when nothing good happened_. 

Maybe she had just become a coward. Because not asking Oliver about those five unhappy years was one thing. Not asking him about his plan to take out Slade? That . . . that wasn’t the same thing. 

And that wasn’t something she should be thinking about right now. Not when she was on the way to the Arrow cave. 

Stopping at the post office had always been her last errand on Monday and Thursday mornings. Once she had gotten Oliver’s mail, she would hop in her car and drive the ten blocks to Queen Consolidated and get to work. When Oliver arrived, he would always have a cup of coffee for her, which he would exchange her for the mail. 

It was a well-oiled system that had acquired a lot of dust in the past few weeks. Because Oliver wasn’t the CEO anymore and he didn’t need an executive assistant. And due to all the complicated legal wrangling that was going on over the company, it meant Felicity couldn’t even return to her old job in the IT department. 

Pretty soon, she would have to get some kind of job, since her savings wouldn’t last forever, even with how she had banked so much cash thanks to the ridiculous salary she had made as Oliver’s EA. But until that day came, she spent her days in the Foundry, much quieter now that Verdant was shuttered. There had been plenty of work to do, repairing the damage caused by Slade’s attack. Especially to her babies. But the repairs were difficult with Oliver’s limited funds, so she had made a few compromises, chosen to not replace everything. And instead of asking Oliver for money she knew he would have trouble coming up with, she had used her own savings for the most essential pieces. So she was learning to make do with a different setup, until she could afford to get back to her optimum system. 

At least crime was down in Starling right now--the bad guys seemed to have taken a break as they recovered from Slade, too. And the repairs to the Foundry were finally completed, which left her searching for things to do. She poked at her computers, making tiny little tweaks to improve performance--ones that invariably bugged her after a few days so she would undo them and try again. She cleaned all the server cabinets, removing every speck of dust and dirt that somehow crept their way into her babies. She wrote new programs to automate processes she normally did manually, cracked her way into a few databases, and generally just tried to fill her days as much as she could. 

It was all about staying busy. Keeping her mind from thinking about that one dark night. That one bright day. But it wasn’t working. It had been three weeks and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

The typical morning rush hour in Starling City was not so typical today: cars moved sluggishly and Felicity inched her Mini along the highway that led from downtown towards the Glades. Normally, she managed to make the best of traffic, to catch up on podcasts or listen to music, but today . . . today, she didn’t want to be trapped in her car with her thoughts. Because no amount of head shakes or deep breaths were going to keep her off this topic today, it appeared. 

So . . . so maybe she should think about. Maybe it was time to start asking herself what the hell had happened. Because she had no idea what to think about that night and day, and until she knew how she felt, how could she find the words to ask Oliver about it? Because yes, everything seemed normal. She would work on her computers and Oliver would train with Digg or sharpen arrowheads or teach Roy, if he wasn’t meeting with lawyers about Queen Consolidated.

But everything wasn’t normal. 

Gripping the steering wheel, Felicity focused on the car ahead of her, syncing her responses to it. If it sped up, she pressed her foot on the gas. When its brake lights lit up, she hit her own brakes. It was just the kind of mindless rhythm that let her work out what she was going to do about Oliver. 

Because it had been three weeks since they came back from Lian Yu, and they hadn’t talked at all. Oh, they had talked. About Queen Consolidated, about her computer repairs, about Thea’s text messages from all over Europe. But it was never anything personal. Never anything about . . . them. With crime quiet in the aftermath of Slade’s attack, they were left with nothing to talk about, except for the questions neither of them wanted to address.

Which wasn’t like her. At all. She had always been curious--where had that curiosity, that inquisitiveness, gone? Why had she let everything remain so unsettled between her and Oliver? 

Felicity rolled her eyes at herself. Because it was easier to live in limbo than face the cold, hard truth. Her inner Cher Horowitz went “duh!” really, really emphatically. 

But that was the reality of the situation. She had spent over a year fighting and warning and telling herself that no matter what daydreams she had about Oliver, they weren’t as important as what they were achieving in Starling City. A million women loved Oliver and wanted to sleep with him--but only she, Felicity Meghan Smoak, could keep him safe and be the voice in his ear. The person who helped him when everything looked dark. 

That moment in the clock tower, when Oliver was completely crushed and defeated, when she told him that she believed in him: out of all the words she had ever said, she had never meant anything more than she had in that moment. And knowing that she was able to be there for him, in that moment--that made her more certain than ever of her place in his life. Because if she was just a girlfriend, he would have pushed her away long before that. He would say he needed to keep her safe, keep her protected. And if she hadn’t been there, who knew what might have happened?

So even with everything else she felt for Oliver, those impulses and desires she kept behind mile-high walls in her mind and her heart, she had felt content. Or at least willing to accept her unique place in Oliver’s life and on the team. She didn’t fool herself that she was irreplaceable, like John told her . . . but Felicity had enough self-worth to know she would leave a hole if she was gone, a hole that would be very, very difficult to fill. 

And then Oliver had taken her to the Queen mansion and told her he loved her--told her that she was the woman he loved--and that just . . . 

Nearly too late, she realized the car in front of her had stopped. Felicity pounded on her brake pedal and her car jerked to a stop. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands over her steering wheel, giving herself a moment before she focused her attention back on the road. 

_Mental note: don’t try to answer potentially soul-crushing questions while driving_.

XXX

When she arrived at the Foundry, her heart still beating a little fast from her near-accident, Felicity was determined to just get to work. The last place she wanted to be having any thoughts about Oliver’s professed-but-in-no-way-real feelings for her was in their quote-unquote workplace. If Digg was there, or, God help her, Oliver, it would be too likely that she would blurt something out and ruin _everything_.

But when she arrived, the lair was dark and silent, except for the soft light from the monitors and the gentle hum of her computers. And it made her relax a little, to be alone. She could use the peace and quiet to recover and get her mind back on track.

All she was able to do was turn on the lights and sit down in her chair before she heard the soft beeping, coming from the door at the top of the stairs. Her body felt even more tense than before, until light footsteps began pattering down the stairs and she knew it must be Roy. Digg’s tread would be heavier and Oliver wouldn’t make any noise at all.

“Hey, Blondie,” Roy said, his hands sunk into the pockets of his red hoodie. 

She was so grateful for his presence that Felicity didn’t even raise her normal complaint about being called ‘Blondie’. “Hi, Roy,” she said, taking Oliver’s mail from her bag and leaving it on his workbench. “What are you doing here?” 

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Thought I’d practice some more.” 

“Okay. I don’t know where Oliver is . . .” she said, trying to sound breezy and normal. “But I don’t mind the company,” she continued quickly. “Have at it. Just don’t aim your arrows anywhere near my babies.” 

“You get a little too close one time . . .” Roy muttered as he went to lift his bow from his case. 

“Do you know what an arrow would do to one of my computers?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Roy chose to stay silent, just giving her a look that was equal parts guilty puppy and defiant teenager. 

“Oh, go shoot your arrows,” she said, waving her hand at him as she turned back to her computers. 

With a small smirk of a grin, Roy hefted his quiver and walked towards the other end of the lair. Since her back was to him, it didn’t take long for Felicity to forget that he was even there. The only sounds were the twang of the bowstring, the thunk of the arrow hitting the target, and the occasional soft curse when Roy missed. 

Felicity let herself get lost in her searches, her mind concentrating on coding and not stupid men. Well, Digg wasn’t stupid at all--he wasn’t here because he was going with Lyla to a prenatal check-up, according to the text message he had sent her this morning. And Roy was a kid. He was allowed to be stupid, he was still learning how to be an adult. 

So really, it was just one man being stupid and bothering her. 

What had Oliver been thinking? Telling her he loved her? Honestly, she still didn’t know how they got away with it. Because--because Slade knew Oliver. He had known Oliver longer than she did. He knew how much Oliver loved Laurel. Yet for some reason, Slade had believed Oliver’s confession. Believed it more than Felicity did herself. Because there was just no way that Oliver actually loved her. 

It had been all part of the plan, she reminded herself. A brilliant plan, really, one that turned the tables and took a weakness--their inability to outthink Slade--and made it a strength. Because Oliver had done the last thing Slade had expected, the last thing he would have thought Oliver Queen would do: send an innocent, unprotected, weak woman to do the Arrow’s job. 

_I thought you had a thing for stronger women . . ._

The taunt in Slade’s voice still haunted her nightmares. Because Laurel had struggled. She had wiggled and squirmed in the grip of the Mirakuru soldier, trying to get free, trying to make a difference. But Felicity had been frozen. Unable to move, unable to think of anything but the syringe in her pocket, the syringe that had to be administered to Slade, so he would be cured and Oliver could beat him.

She just . . . she didn’t know why he hadn’t told her first. There had been time. Not a lot, and it was pretty hard to talk on a motorcycle, yeah, but--but once they got to the mansion and before they went inside, Oliver could have said he had a plan and she should just go with whatever he said. Then she would have known. She would have known that whatever he said was part of the plan. 

And that she shouldn’t believe anything he said. Shouldn’t lose hours of sleep wondering. Shouldn’t do something like think about those three little words. 

Why hadn’t he told her? He had trusted her so much, by giving her that syringe, by sending her in against Slade. Did he think by not warning her, she wouldn’t freak out? Because she had to wait an entire hour in the mansion before Slade’s men captured her. That had been plenty of time for multiple freak-outs. 

Perhaps he thought if she had been warned, she wouldn’t react in a way that would keep Slade from realizing what was going on. After all, she didn’t do much field work, she wasn’t good at lying and keeping her feelings inside--not in a situation like that. She wasn’t a soldier like Digg or a warrior like Sara or in training like Roy. She was just . . . Felicity. The woman who was good with computers. 

The last woman on Earth who could capture Oliver Queen’s heart. 

Maybe that was why he hadn’t told her. Maybe it was because, in Oliver’s mind, he knew there was no way she would think he meant it. Because they were unthinkable. 

Really, it was just a matter of time before Oliver would start dating Laurel again. She was the woman he loved. The woman he wanted, the woman who would fit into all the parts of his life. Able to attend some rich person function together on Friday evening, and then give him the support he needed to go be the Arrow on Friday night. It was actually kind of surprising, now that Laurel knew Oliver’s secret, that they weren’t already together. 

Felicity wondered what was holding Oliver back.

“Jeez, where’s Oliver?” 

Roy’s voice cut into Felicity’s thoughts. She was somewhat proud of herself for not starling like an anxious squirrel. But she did blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been here an hour, which means you’ve been here an hour at least, and he’s not here. And lately he’s kinda joined to you at the hip,” Roy said with a smirk.

She was an actual genius, but she had no idea what Roy was talking about. When she didn’t say anything, he lifted his eyebrows and shot her a look. “Really? He’s always around when you are. Like, all the time now.” 

All she could do was stare at him, until Roy rolled his eyes and walked back towards the targets. She watched him shoot some arrows before she slowly spun her chair around to face her monitors, still trying to process what Roy had said. 

What was Roy talking about? Oliver wasn’t always around . . . 

The beeping of the access panel at the top of the stairs made her look up in time to see Oliver step through the door. Lately, even with all the uncertainty she was feeling, her heart always skipped a beat when she first saw Oliver. Now, with Roy’s words ringing in her ears, she felt like instead of skipping a beat, her heart started racing. 

“Looking good, Roy,” Oliver said when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Keep your free arm a little stiffer and it’ll improve your aim.” 

The younger man nodded and kept practicing. Felicity absently noticed that he was hitting the center of the target more consistently. And she only noticed that because she was looking at Roy instead of looking at Oliver, even though she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. 

“Good morning,” Oliver said, his voice a bit tentative. 

_Get it together, Smoak!_

“Hi, Oliver,” she said, looking at him and giving him a quick smile. “What’s with the suit?” she asked, gesturing at the gray suit he was wearing . . . the suit that happened to be her favorite. 

“Another meeting about QC,” he said, blowing out a breath. “I’m glad it’s over. I brought you coffee,” he said, walking over and carefully setting a paper cup down at the end of her desk, away from her computers. His eyes stayed fixed on her as he smiled a little. “Just like a normal Thursday.” 

“Well, not so normal. Since we’re here, and I’m wearing yoga pants instead of a dress. Although you’re in a suit, just like before. Which is nice, although I suppose you’ll change, since thousand-dollar suits aren’t exactly conducive to vigilante-ing or training or whatever you’re here to do and . . . ” 

Reaching out, Felicity snatched up her coffee and took a sip, halting her babble. Once she had swallowed, she took a breath. “Thank you.” 

A small smile creased his face. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice amused. “How was your evening?” 

Her evening . . . ? The one that they had been together for most of it? 

“Um, fine? I went home and watched some more of my Netflix queue. Finally started watching _Fringe_ , which is great. Joshua Jackson, so dreamy. I’ve had a crush on him since I saw _The Mighty Ducks_. Have you ever seen that movie? It’s about hockey, you know. You like hockey, right?”

It had to be her imagination, how Oliver’s eyes narrowed when she talked about having a crush, right? 

“I’m glad you had a good night,” he said, turning and walking over to his work bench. 

Felicity watched him walk away, taking in how his shoulders seemed a bit tense. Instinctively, she wanted to go to him, ask him what was wrong, check that his night had been okay, too. Because in the last few months, that desire had been getting stronger, as more and more had been piled on Oliver’s shoulders. 

But for the last three weeks, she had been going against her instincts. Because things were just so weird with her and Oliver, and she didn’t know how to fix them. Not without talking about what happened in the mansion, and she . . . 

She was a coward. She was nowhere near brave enough to look Oliver in the eye and ask him if he really loved her or not. To demand that he give her an answer. 

That was why Slade didn’t think she was strong. That was why everyone thought Laurel was Oliver’s perfect match. That was why Oliver had left her in limbo, when they were standing in the sunshine on Lian Yu, with his non-answer to her only attempt at asking him if he meant it. 

Looking down at her keyboard, Felicity took a few breaths. Regardless of whatever was going on with her and Oliver, there was work to be done. She had a few searches she could set up, and then maybe she could just beg off for the rest of the day. Say that she had to go job-hunting. No, she couldn’t do that--because Oliver would get that sad lost puppy look on his face, because he would feel guilty that she wasn’t able to work at her old job in the IT department. 

For a moment, she wished things weren’t so complicated. Wished that she could go back to the days when she worked in her little cubicle, before Oliver Queen had shown up with a smile and a shot-up laptop, back when she was just an IT girl who didn’t realize just how big and amazing the world could be. Who didn’t realize how addicting making a difference could be. 

A soft huff made her turn her head slightly, and then she heard Oliver say, “I’ll be damned.” 

Slowly spinning her chair around, she looked at Oliver. He had an envelope in his hand--it looked like it was the thick Russian one she had picked up earlier. “What is it?”

He walked towards her, holding out a creamy piece of cardstock printed with dark black ink. “Anatoly,” he said, letting her take the card from him. She tried to take it without touching him, but his fingers brushed oh-so-lightly against hers. 

“The Bratva leader?” she asked in confusion, looking down at the card and then handing it back to Oliver, since it was in Russian.

Nodding, he looked down for a moment. “He’s getting married.” 

“Oh,” Felicity said, her lips quirking into a small smile. She didn’t really know Anatoly Knyazev; their interactions in Russia had been limited. But she had liked him, even if he was a member of the Russian mob. “That’s nice for him.” 

Oliver lifted his eyes from the invitation, looking at her with . . . something. She couldn’t figure out what emotion it was, glowing warm and steady in his eyes, but it made her stomach tighten. 

“He’s invited me to the wedding. Me and his ‘two other favorite Americans’,” Oliver said, flipping over the card to show her a handwritten note on the back.

“What?” 

“Anatoly invited me, you and Digg to his wedding,” Oliver said, lifting his gaze back to hers.

Why did all the air seem to have suddenly gone out of the lair? She swallowed. “Oh.” 

Felicity knew that Oliver had gone to the Bratva for help with Slade, but they hadn’t wanted to help. From what Digg had told her, Oliver had pretty decisively burned his bridges with the Bratva in Starling City. She wasn’t sure what it meant that Mr. Knyazev, who was so important in Russia, was inviting Oliver to his wedding. It probably was some show of support? 

But why would Anatoly Knyazev invite her to his wedding?

Fiddling with her glasses a little, she looked at Oliver. “Are you going to go?”

“I should,” he said slowly, flipping the invitation around in his hands. His fingers were so clever, she thought idly. If she tried to do that spinny move, she would have dropped the card. Or sent it flying like a Frisbee. “Although I don’t really think I have a choice.” 

She tilted her head to the side, ready to ask what he meant, when a soft smile flashed across his face, stopping her words. Because it had been a while since she had seen Oliver smile, and it was . . . nice. More than nice--it made her stomach swoop and made her stupid heart flutter.

“Russia in June is nice. Better than it is in November.” 

“That . . . makes sense?” she said slowly, not really sure how to respond. Not sure why he seemed to be hanging on her words. 

“And it would be nice to have someone there with me. A plus-one,” Oliver said, his hands still playing with the invitation. But now it was more like he was fidgeting, rather than showing off his manual dexterity. 

Distantly, Felicity realized that Roy had stopped shooting targets. A glance over at him let her see Roy leaning against a column off to the side, watching with a smirk on his face. She swallowed, feeling a weird case of nerves. Which was ridiculous, because what Oliver was saying was just the truth. Weddings were no fun if you were there by yourself, even if you had other friends there, too. Because weddings were for couples to attend together. 

Of course it would be nice for him to have a date. And Oliver Queen would have no trouble finding a date. Yeah, he might be broke for a billionaire, but he still had his face. And his body. And she really needed to shut down that line of thinking _right now_.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone--”

“Would you like to go with me?” 

At Oliver’s interruption, Felicity felt her teeth click together as she stared at him. When he didn’t try and laugh it off or anything, just kept looking at her steadily with those eyes of his, she had to make sure she had heard him right. “What?”

“You’re invited, after all,” Oliver said, oh-so-slightly shifting on his feet. “If I’m going, John will probably come with me, so it would look strange if you didn’t come. It just makes sense if we all go. I wouldn't want you to be here by yourself.” 

There was a soft huff from Roy, but for some reason, he didn’t come forward and join their conversation, all truculence and bravado. Instead, he left them alone. 

Which meant Felicity had to get her head out of her daydreams. Because Oliver was right--she was invited. And while she didn’t know much about the Bratva, she got the sense that invitations were usually commands. If Oliver felt like he had to go, even with the apparently-high position he held, she definitely needed to go, too. And if both Oliver and Digg were going, they would both worry about her if she was here in Starling City. True, Slade’s Mirakuru warriors hadn’t inflicted the same level of damage as Malcolm Merlyn and his earthquake machine had, but the city was certainly recovering slowly. 

It wasn’t a date. Oliver just wanted her to know that she needed to come, too--to let her know that she didn’t really have a choice, either. He probably thought asking her to come as his plus-one was better than telling her flat-out that it was too dangerous for her to stay here in Starling and too dangerous for her to miss this wedding. 

Of course, one of the last places in the world she wanted to go was Russia. Not with the memories of her last trip to that country. Of seeing, with her own eyes, how Oliver was willing to settle for sex with a woman who was evil incarnate--Felicity had felt that way long before she had evidence that Isabel was, in fact, evil--than to have something real with someone. 

Oliver was noble and selfless, like all heroes. She knew he felt like the people he didn’t deserve to get what he wanted, didn’t feel he could be selfish like that. So she got it. Why he had given her that stupid line about how it was better to not be with someone he really cared about. 

But she didn’t agree with that. She thought he deserved better. Better than Isabel. Someone who saw the light inside him, who cared about him, who knew the real Oliver. A woman who loved every part of Oliver Queen.

Felicity wanted that woman to be her. And for a moment, standing in the Queen mansion, she thought it could be her. 

It was clear, though, that nothing had changed. What happened in Russia stayed in Russia, and just because they were going back to Russia didn’t mean anything. Did she think that once he crossed the border into the country, he would act out of character and tell her that he had meant every word, that he did love her, that he wanted to try having a relationship with her?

That wouldn’t be happening. As long as she remembered that, things would be fine. She would be fine. 

Pasting a smile on her face, she nodded. “It sounds like fun. Even for someone like me, since I’m Jewish and Russia wasn’t always a great place for Jews, but--but that was long ago, and I’m sure that won’t matter. It’s a wedding, after all--everyone’s happy at a wedding.” 

Since she was looking right at him, since she didn’t really understand what was going on in his head and was looking for any indication of what he was thinking, she could see the reaction that her words prompted. His eyes went dark and flat, his lips parted slightly, and his shoulders tensed. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rough.

“Yes. Everyone’s happy at a wedding.”

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the great reaction to chapter 1! I forgot to mention before, but since this fic is nearly done, I’ll be posting twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today, we’re taking a look inside the head (and the heart) of a certain former playboy billionaire . . . hope you enjoy!

_**So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision**_  
Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones  
Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding  
As we lay them on the granite countertop

XXX

_Four Years Ago_

His footsteps are nearly silent against the thickly-carpeted hallways of the Hotel Baltschug Kempinski. Oliver moves as if he belongs here, acting as if he wasn’t a member of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, in a hotel where members of two different Georgian mafia groups were celebrating a wedding. 

Which was the reason he is here. The Tbilisi and Kutaisi clans were no longer content running things in Georgia; they had been making inroads into Russia and were encroaching on Moscow, and the Bratva would not allow that to stand. So tonight’s wedding, uniting the daughter of a Tbilisi crime boss and a self-made man from the Kutaisi ring, is the perfect opportunity to destabilize the groups and make them shift their focus to their internal conflicts, away from their plans for expansion. 

Because when a bride dies on her wedding day, guilt automatically falls on the husband until proven otherwise.

Oliver rolls his shoulders, feeling the weight of the suit jacket on his frame. It has been a while since he wore a suit, and even though this one was tailored for him, to allow him to fit in with the well-heeled mobsters, it still doesn’t feel quite right. Or maybe he is just extra-conscious of the Baikal IJ-70 that’s resting against his lower back, or the tools that are included in the small satchel he carries. 

So far, everything has gone without a hitch. He entered the hotel and gave over his invitation, allowed himself to be frisked, and then walked into the reception space. He kept to himself mostly, although he let his eyes wander when a slinky, elegant brunette crossed his path. But it was only a momentary glance, while he kept his mind on his mission.

When he completes this assassination, he would be a captain. He would have the rank within the Bratva that would protect him. Would allow him to start implementing his plan to get out. To gather what he needed before returning to Lian Yu and allowing himself to be rescued. 

Because it’s time to go home. 

As the reception continued, the vodka flowing freely and the guests growing progressively more cheerful, Oliver only drank enough to not draw suspicion. And now, with still at least an hour to go before the bride and groom would be allowed to leave, he slipped away. 

He retrieved the satchel with his supplies from a trash can on the seventh floor, taking the time to quickly check the gun before tucking it into the back of his pants. Everything is just as the Bratva’s internal contact had promised. With his equipment ready, he makes his way to the suite in which the bride and groom would spend their wedding night. Using the key card that their contact had also provided, Oliver swipes the card through the lock and steps into the room. 

Through the open curtains, he can see the lights of the Kremlin. It’s enough illumination that he is able to move without turning on a lamp. And there are still puddles of deep darkness in which to hide.

Oliver looks around, picking a corner of the room where any light from the door opening into the suite would not reveal him. The corner is also partially blocked by a high-backed sofa, giving him cover and preventing anyone on the bed from seeing him as well. 

And now he waits. 

XXX

The lobby of Queen Consolidated was bustling on this Thursday morning as Oliver walked towards the exit. His frustration was so intense, he almost felt it roll off him in waves. Because he had wasted another two hours listening to lawyers try to explain why he couldn’t take ownership of his family’s company. Another two hours of being told how foolish and short-sighted he had been. 

Another two hours of feeling the ache of something missing. 

Someone missing. 

It was ironic: he had been walking into this building for most of his life. His family’s name was (still) on the side of the building. But he had only felt like he belonged at his family’s company when he was here to see Felicity. Or when he was with her. It felt wrong to step into this building and know she wasn’t inside, too. On the twentieth floor, working in her IT department cubicle, or on the thirty-eighth floor, going over his schedule and making it appear like he knew what he was doing as CEO. 

Today’s meeting, like all of the previous meetings, had been fruitless without her presence by his side, providing the gentle support and cheerful encouragement he craved. She made him feel like he should keep fighting, that regaining control of his family’s company was the right thing to do. It was laying the groundwork for a future--for his future, when he wouldn’t have to be the Arrow any longer, when he could be only Oliver Queen.

Once before, he had thought he might have the chance to hang up the hood and he had acted rashly, impulsively. He had hurt people, had set in motion events that had ended up so incredibly badly. This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. He needed to have a plan for when he was done. 

One piece of that was having an income. He could use his trust fund, yes, but at this point it was so depleted that soon he would be living on the principle. His mother’s estate was tied up in probate, Thea had left before signing the paperwork that would have created new trusts, and Queen Consolidated was so entangled in legal red tape, it might be months before he would know if he would regain possession. But he had to try, because otherwise . . . 

Without an income, it would be hard to make the other parts of his plan happen. The parts that involved a five-foot-three blonde with glasses, the woman who made him feel like all of this was worthwhile and important and necessary. 

Pushing roughly at the glass doors, Oliver stepped out onto the street and took a deep breath of warm, humid air. He slid off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and finally started feeling like himself. Because now, he could go the Foundry and begin his real work. 

A flash of blonde hair made him pause and turn his head, his heart leaping into his throat. Had Felicity decided to surprise him--?

Immediately he realized it wasn’t Felicity. That she wasn’t there. And really, why should she be? Not when he had ruined her professional reputation, cut her off from working in the field she loved, held her back for his own selfish reasons. 

He had to stop doing that. He wanted to stop, but it was so hard to not want her by his side. For months he had known Felicity was critical to his life, but he hadn’t understood why. Or, more accurately, had refused to let himself try to understand why. Not until the moment in the clock tower, when she had given him hope and belief in the midst of utter darkness, had he realized just what that feeling was. 

Love. He loved Felicity. Was in love with her. And suddenly, all those different emotions he had felt when he was around her--pride, respect, amusement, friendship, desire--they all made sense. Realizing he loved Felicity . . . the world suddenly started making sense again. 

But hard on the heels of that revelation came another one: he had picked the worst possible time to become aware of his feelings for Felicity. When a madman from his past, a man that blamed Oliver for killing the love of his life, had told him that one more person had to die before his vendetta would be fulfilled, it wasn’t hard to imagine who Slade would pick. 

The woman he loved.

For one brief, horrible moment, Oliver had hoped Slade hadn’t realized the truth. That Slade would take Laurel, that he would automatically assume that Oliver still was in love with her. 

When he realized what he was hoping, he had felt guilty and ashamed. How could he wish harm on Laurel, with how she had suffered? Oliver knew he didn’t want that to happen to Laurel. He was just so desperate to keep Felicity safe . . . 

“Mr. Queen?” 

Oliver startled, realizing he had been standing in the plaza outside Queen Consolidated, lost in his thoughts. _First time for everything_ , a cheeky voice in his head stated--a voice that sounded a lot like Thea. 

Swallowing, he turned and saw one of the QC security guards approaching him. A guard he recognized, from his first visits to this building as a young boy. 

“Mr. Carter,” Oliver said, finding himself smiling a little as he held his hand out. “Please, you’ve known me since I knocked over that vase in the lobby. Oliver, please.” 

Mr. Carter, nearly seventy if he was a day, chuckled as he shook Oliver’s hand. “Yes, just a few months ago, wasn’t it?” 

“Something like that,” Oliver said, ducking his head. “I suppose I should get going instead of loitering.” 

“Psh,” Mr. Carter said. “It’s your building. You’re not loitering when you own the place.” 

He smiled a little, even as he felt a wrench at Mr. Carter’s words. Because he didn’t own this place, according to the law. “Still, I should be going,” he replied, taking a step back.

“Of course, a young man like you, you have things to do,” Mr. Carter said. “Give Miss Smoak my regards, won’t you?” 

Freezing, he stared at Mr. Carter. “Miss Smoak?”

The guard gave him a look, one that made him feel like a dim-witted child. “Yes, Miss Smoak. I figured you would see her later today and I hoped you would tell her we miss her around here.” Mr. Carter winked at Oliver and jerked his thumb back towards the Queen Consolidated building. “You think you’re the first man in that building to fall in love with his secretary?” 

It was probably strange that his immediate reaction was to correct Mr. Carter and say ‘executive assistant’. Followed by asking him when he had guessed how Oliver felt about Felicity, and if he thought that Felicity might--

“I--I’ll tell her that,” Oliver said, his voice sounding choked. He took a few steps back, turning to leave. “Have a good day, Mr. Carter.” 

“You too, Mr. Queen,” he replied, but Oliver barely heard the man. He was too caught up in his head. 

Had everyone known how he felt about Felicity before he did? Digg had needled him sometimes, yes, about the way he acted around Felicity. Like when Barry Allen had appeared, or when he had started dating Sara again. And of course, there was Isabel’s crack in Russia, about Felicity’s skirts and how she got her job as his EA.

(Oliver still didn’t think her skirts were _that_ short. What he wouldn’t give to see Felicity in a true miniskirt, revealing even more of those toned legs that looked miles long, although she barely came up to his shoulders even in her highest heels . . . )

Swallowing, Oliver made his way to his car, sliding in behind the wheel. He just didn’t understand. The whole world seemed to know that he loved Felicity--and everyone seemed to have known that fact for months.

The only person who didn’t seem to be aware of his feelings was Felicity. 

And that was what worried him. What made his tongue feel extra-clumsy in his mouth. Because . . . Felicity didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe him, when she believed everything else about him.

_Talk about unthinkable . . . you and me, I mean._

It--it wasn’t that unthinkable, was it? After all, Felicity was smart and beautiful, kind and caring, loyal and funny and a million other amazing qualities. What was so unthinkable about him falling in love with her? 

Or maybe what was unthinkable was Felicity being in love with him. 

As much as that thought hurt, as much as it scared him, it was possible that Felicity didn’t feel that way about him. After all, attraction wasn’t love. Lust wasn’t love. If there was anyone who knew that, it was former billionaire playboy Oliver Queen. And just because she stood by his side no matter what, told him she believed in him, made him feel like he wasn’t alone . . . she could do all those things without loving him in a romantic sense.

All the other reasons to hesitate about removing the uncertainties between himself and Felicity--worries about the team, having nothing to offer her, the reality that he didn’t deserve her, the danger for the woman the Arrow loved--were enough to keep him from trying. At least for a while. But not being sure of how she felt . . . that made him not want to try at all. To let the words simply exist without explaining himself or finding out how she felt about him. He couldn’t forget that he loved her--he didn’t want her to forget that he said the words to her. 

But if he couldn’t marry action with words, if he couldn’t love Felicity the way she deserved, the way she needed, maybe it was better if they just tried to move on. Even if every single day, he found something new to love about Felicity, a new reason for how he felt. 

Oliver started the car and pulled out into traffic, heading for the Foundry. He just needed to keep a lid on what he was feeling. He could do that. Even if he kept getting signs that when it came to Felicity, he wore his heart on his sleeve.

A soft chime from his phone made him glance at it, and he couldn’t help the tiny smile at the reminder notification.

_get coffee for Felicity_

It was Thursday. Every Monday and Thursday, he had gotten her coffee from the fancy coffee shop down the street from QC. He had been more than willing to get her a vanilla latte from there every day, but Felicity had told him he had better things to spend his money on, “like that 3-D printer I keep telling you we should have!” 

No matter how many times he had told her that he could afford both, it hadn’t swayed her. So he had settled into Mondays and Thursdays, one of the dozen little routines they used to have. 

Maybe . . . maybe that was what they needed. To go back to what used to work for them, even with everything that had changed. Because right now, he couldn’t afford the 3-D printer . . . but he could handle a fancy coffee. 

He didn’t know if something as simple as a coffee would help. But he took the empty parking space, right in front of the coffee shop, as a sign.

XXX

The moment the electronic lock beeped and he stepped into the basement under Verdant, Oliver felt one of the knots in his stomach loosen. His personal life might be in shambles, but this? Being the Arrow? Right now, that was working. Although Slade’s attack on Starling City had left it battered, it had been less destructive overall than the Undertaking. And with Slade locked up on Lian Yu, he was trying to see the events of this spring as . . . 

It would never be a victory. Not with what he had lost. His mother, his sister’s love and trust, his family’s company. But at least there was a sense of satisfaction, knowing that he had beaten Slade without having to resort to killing. 

And he wouldn’t have succeeded without the smart, beautiful blonde who was tapping away at her computer station. God, he was so proud of her. Of how she had faced Slade, when she was so scared. So scared yet so determined. 

Because he felt like he was ready to throw himself at her feet, Oliver made himself speak to Roy first, offering him some advice on his target shooting. He watched for a moment--not really long enough to see if the correction had made an improvement in Roy’s ability to aim--because his eyes were drawn to Felicity. 

She was watching Roy, which let him soak in the sight of her. Felicity had upgraded her wardrobe when she became his EA, going from her pencil skirts, blouses and cardigans to sleek, bright dresses. But lately, she had been wearing clothes he had never seen before. Casual ones, like today’s yoga pants and hooded sweatshirt. Her hair was back in a ponytail like normal, but it was closer to the curly ones she had sported when they first had met. It was the most relaxed he had ever seen her, and he liked it. It made him feel like she was finally comfortable enough around him to be herself.

_Or she just doesn’t want to pay for dry cleaning nice clothes when she sits in a dark, dingy basement all day long_ , that annoyingly-practical Thea voice said in his mind.

“Good morning,” he said softly, feeling awkward when Felicity startled a bit. But then she turned and smiled at him as she replied.

“What’s with the suit?” she asked, her observant eyes of course noticing his clothing. 

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about another failed meeting--to see her eyes get that sad, unhappy cast to them--so he brushed aside her question before setting her coffee down on her desk, in the only spot that she allowed drinks. 

And for the first time since before the mansion, she went off on one of her little babbles, the ones that he had never minded, even with the innuendos. He hadn’t realized he had missed them. But listening to her, watching her hands gesture and her lips move, before her brain caught up with what she was saying and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment . . . it was like getting direct access to Felicity. And he wanted that. He wanted all of her. 

That was why he never stopped her, letting her talk and talk until she caught herself. Because there was no one like Felicity. 

This time, she just picked up her coffee and took a sip, before looking up at him. “Thank you.” He knew it was just for the coffee, but . . . but it always felt like more. 

So of course, he got carried away, asked about her night, and found out that Felicity used to have a crush on Joshua Jackson. 

Joshua Jackson? Really?

“I’m glad you had a good night,” he said tightly, turning away and trying to find something to do. Trying to tell himself to not be an asshole, because really, a crush on some pretty-boy actor was nothing compared to _his_ romantic history. 

Which was probably another reason she either didn’t want to try anything with him or didn’t care about him like he cared about her. What woman in her right mind wanted to date a man who had failed at every single romantic relationship in his life? Who had failed in most of his relationships, whether they were girlfriends, friends or family?

Oliver sat down at his workbench, slumping a little as he tugged on his tie, pulling the knot free and letting the two ends hang around his neck. With Roy here, he could do some sparring once he got out of the rest of his suit. Not that Roy was as much of a challenge as Digg, but the younger man was definitely improving. And physical activity was better than sitting around, mooning over Felicity . . . 

The stack of mail on his bench made him cock his head to the side. Then he remembered again that it was Thursday. And Felicity got his mail on Mondays and Thursdays. 

Looking over his shoulder, he watched Felicity at her computer. How her ponytail brushed back and forth across her back, when her gaze moved from one monitor to another. She looked like a grad student doing research, reminding him of just how young she was. Young and wise and perfect. 

When he turned his head away from her, Roy was looking at him, his eyebrows raised and a bit of a smirk on his face. Oliver frowned, and Roy’s eyes cut over to Felicity and then back to Oliver. And then his eyebrows raised even higher and his smirk became more pronounced. A silent message of _you have got it so bad_.

He ignored Roy and picked up his mail, flipping through the envelopes. None of it looked all that interesting--except for one square envelope covered in Russian stamps. Picking it up, he ripped open the envelope, pulling out a card. 

His ability to read Russian was a bit rusty, so he squinted as he translated the words. Then he flipped the card over to see a handwritten message, scrawled in a script he recognized. 

And he let out a soft huff as he shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” Felicity asked after she swiveled her chair around. Oliver stood up, approaching her slowly. 

“Anatoly,” he said, handing her the invitation. Their hands brushed and Oliver felt a tingle go from his fingers straight to his groin, making him press his lips together. Ever since they had returned from Lian Yu, he had held back from touching Felicity as much as possible, because touching . . . it had always been a way they communicated, when neither of them had the words. Touching Felicity’s shoulder, reaching out to take her hand, the rare hugs--it had let him connect with her. But now that those three words were out there, touching had too much weight. Too much meaning. 

Oliver craved her touch too much to be casual about it. 

Once she was done reading, Felicity immediately handed him the card back and he found himself fidgeting with it as he explained why Anatoly had invited him--had invited all of them, in fact--to his wedding. 

There was still so much Felicity didn’t know about him. His Bratva history was part of that. Even with what had happened in Russia last fall, he had kept Felicity away from it as much as he could. Because it was so ugly, representing the time when he had truly become a killer, and he didn’t want Felicity to look at him differently. With disappointment or shame or fear in her eyes. 

Because if she knew, what he had done . . . her opinion of him would change. And Oliver wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

“Are you going to go?” Felicity’s question was direct and expected.

“I should,” he admitted, looking down at the invite in his hand. This was an opportunity he shouldn’t turn down. After using up all his favors with the Bratva in Starling City, getting on Alexei’s bad side in a big way, even his position as captain would get him nothing now. So Anatoly’s invitation, this show of support, would go a long way to restoring a little of his clout. 

“Although I don’t really think I have a choice,” he said, looking at Felicity again. Which was also the truth. Because Oliver was without any power in the Bratva, this invitation wasn’t really an request--it was an order.. 

Just like Anatoly had ordered him to go home, that night in June four years ago. “Go back to Starling City. Find nice girl, have babies. And occasionally, I will ask a favor of you, and in exchange, I will do favor for you.” And Oliver, who had already been planning his return--even before his recent elevation to captain--had done as Anatoly had told him. 

At least he had fulfilled part of Anatoly’s order. He had returned home and had found a nice girl. That made him smile a little. 

And then he realized Felicity was looking at him, with a soft, dreamy expression on her face, and it was so compelling--it made him want to pour his heart out to her--that he rushed for something to say that wouldn’t change everything. “Russia in June is nice. Better than it is in November.”

Now she looked confused. Adorably so, in a way that Felicity didn’t get confused. She was so smart, it was rare for her to look befuddled or perplexed, like she did at this moment. And it made him wonder if maybe . . . maybe he could ask her to be his date to the wedding. Without really asking. Without her realizing he was asking her out. 

It was worth a try, wasn’t it?

“Would you like to go with me?”

The minute the words left his mouth, Oliver marveled at just how big an idiot he could be. That was not asking without asking. That was just asking--a clarification that made him think of Felicity, high on oxycodone and babbling about how the word ‘girl’ sounded different in her head. 

Felicity looked so shocked, and Roy was clearly eavesdropping and loving every moment of this, that Oliver scrambled, feeling even more nervous than he had the first time he asked a girl out. Because back then, he knew the girl would say yes. This time . . . he had no idea.

“You’re invited, after all--if I’m going, John will probably come with me, so it would look strange if you didn’t come. It just makes sense if we all go. I wouldn't want you to be here by yourself.”

Roy let out some noise that was probably accompanied by an eye roll, but Oliver ignored him. He was only focused on Felicity, who kept staring at him, looking like she was still trying to understand what he had said. 

The moment that he stood there, looking at her, waiting for her answer, felt eternal. Much longer than the actual thirty seconds or so he spent watching her mind working away, and he wondered what she was thinking.

She had to be nervous. Hesitant about going back to Russia, about having to interact with a lot of mobsters. Concerned about whether she could rely on him. After all, she had seen him in action as a member of the Bratva--she knew he hadn’t said ‘please’ to get that armored car. And just like so many other times in the past, she had known he was hiding the truth from her, if not outright lying. And she had let him do it.

Or maybe her thoughts were more personal. Maybe it was just about him. About not wanting to be his date, even though he had done his best to backpedal on that. She was probably trying to find a way to be kind when she turned him down, when she said she didn’t want to come to the wedding. Which would put him in a difficult position. Because if Anatoly had only invited him, Oliver would go without blinking an eye. Would accept the order from the man who had brought him into the Bratva, a man to whom he still had loyalty. But Felicity and Digg being invited meant it was on Oliver to make sure they came, too. 

So if Felicity turned him down . . . 

A weak smile appeared on her face. “It sounds like fun.” She kept talking, and Oliver heard her, but the relief and, strangely, the excitement he felt made her voice go fuzzy and indistinct for a few moments. He tuned back into her words in time for her to say, “It’s a wedding, after all--everyone’s happy at a wedding.” 

And suddenly, he remembered the last wedding he had attended in Russia, and the memories hit him like a punch in the gut. Remembering what he had done, the stain he still carried on his soul from the choices he had made . . . 

“Yes. Everyone’s happy at a wedding,” he said, his voice rough as he tried to hold back what he was remembering. He knew Felicity saw something was wrong, so he turned away from her, from her insightful eyes and soft face, as he coped with the impact of memories that were now front and center in his mind.

XXX

Digg’s eyebrows crawled halfway up his forehead when Oliver told him about the invitation later that afternoon, after Felicity had left. “Wait, what?” he asked, looking at Oliver. “The three of us got invited to your Russian mob boss’s wedding?” 

“Uh-huh,” Oliver said, hanging from the bottom rung of the salmon ladder. He let go and walked over towards where John was standing. “I’m surprised, too.” 

“Oh, I’m not surprised, I’m pretty damn shocked. Why the hell would Knyazev invite me to his wedding? Let alone Felicity.” Digg narrowed his eyes at Oliver. “What is this?” 

“Blowback from what happened when I was trying to find Slade,” Oliver replied honestly. “I’m sorry, but . . . it’s more of an order than an invitation. Definitely for me, but also for you two.” He paused, measuring his words. “If you don’t want to go, I can find a way--” 

Oliver stopped speaking at the look on Digg’s face. “Man, you really think I’d let you go alone into that nest of vipers?” 

Dropping his head, Oliver smiled a little. “Thank you, John.” 

“You’re welcome. Although you might change your mind after I ask what the hell you’re thinking, making Felicity come along.” Digg’s voice was firm, without a glimmer of anger. But Oliver knew that his former bodyguard and current partner was angry. 

“Digg . . .” Oliver said, turning away. Not wanting to have to look Digg in the eyes and see the disappointment. 

But Digg wouldn’t let him hide. He moved around Oliver, stepping back into his line of sight. “Putting aside Felicity in the middle of the nest of vipers . . . what are you doing with her?” 

His jaw tensed as Oliver bit back all the words that wanted to come out. The explanations, the justifications . . . the fears. 

“I gave you time on Lian Yu to talk to her about what happened. And when it was obvious you hadn’t told her the truth--whatever that is,” Digg said, putting extra emphasis on the last three words before continuing, “I figured you just needed a little more time. But it’s been three weeks, Oliver, and you two are still dancing around each other.”

“I know, Diggle,” Oliver snapped. 

“Do you? It doesn’t look very clear from my seat.” 

Grimacing, Oliver spread his arms wide. “What do you want me to say, Digg? I don’t have this figured out.” 

“What’s to figure out? You tell Felicity you didn’t mean it, that it was about tricking Slade, and--” Digg had gotten in his face, but midway through his sentence, he stopped and stared into Oliver’s eyes. 

Then he took a step back and shook his head. “You are shitting me.”

“What, Digg?” Oliver asked tiredly, wishing he was anywhere else. 

“You meant it,” Digg said, running his hands over his face. “You finally figured out you’re in love with Felicity.” 

He swallowed. “I . . .” 

It felt wrong. To tell Digg how he felt before telling Felicity. So instead of telling the truth to the man he considered his closest friend, almost his brother, he hid it. “Whatever I feel . . . I can’t seem to talk about it with her. I just know that I’d feel better if she was with us in Russia rather than leaving her alone here. Roy’s still recovering from the Mirakuru that was in his system, after all. If anything happened to her . . .” 

Unable to finish the thought--unable to even contemplate that--Oliver turned away, heading towards the bathroom to shower, to get away from Digg and his questions, to just be alone. Digg’s voice drew him up short. 

“This is all gonna blow up in your face if you’re not honest. And the problem is, Oliver,” Digg warned, his voice empathetic but wise, “it won’t just hurt you. It’ll hurt Felicity, too.” 

Oliver turned his head slightly, not really looking right at Digg but able to see him out of the corner of his eye. “I would die before I hurt Felicity.” 

Digg was silent, then blew out a long breath. “I know.” 

When that was all his partner said, Oliver gave a jerky nod and resumed his path to the bathroom. Doing his best to not think about Digg’s warning. Hoping that for once, Digg was wrong. 

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about Oliver’s stupidly nice leather jacket is a hat tip to MachaWicket. :-) I hope y’all like this chapter, and particularly the twist at the end!

_So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces_  
 ** _And it did our thinking while we lived our lives_**  
It counted up our feelings and divided them up even  
And it called that calculation perfect love

XXX

When she had become Oliver’s EA, Felicity had been thrown at first by what the lifestyle of the rich and semi-famous was really like. Sure, she had seen a little of that growing up in Vegas, getting to watch the high rollers in whatever casino her mom was working in. But someone from Iowa who had won a couple hundred thousand at blackjack wasn’t in the same class as Oliver Queen.

So even though it wasn’t even the first time she had taken a private jet to Russia, she still felt a bit overwhelmed. Or maybe it wasn’t being overwhelmed--but she would never be used to it. To the idea of having _that_ much money. 

At least Isabel Rochev wasn’t here this time, she thought to herself as she approached the staircase. And this jet looked a little . . . rough around the edges? But as long as it was more airworthy than that “plane” she and Digg had taken to Lian Yu, Felicity was not going to overthink things. She was not going to be a trembling mass of nerves, because flying was a perfectly rational method of travel. It was statistically safer than driving her Mini, even before she counted her unique problem of finding bleeding vigilantes in her back seat as something unsafe. Unsafe for normal people, that is. Not for her.

Felicity took a deep breath. Okay, so she hated flying. When she was driving, she was in control. On a plane, she couldn’t do anything. Normally, she didn’t consider herself much of a control freak, but flying totally brought it out in her. 

“Felicity?” 

Whirling around, she saw Oliver standing behind her, wearing that stupidly nice leather jacket of his. The brown stupidly nice leather jacket, not the black stupidly nice one. Which was good and bad, because she preferred the brown jacket, which was good, but . . . God, it made him look good. Too good. And that was bad. 

“Hi,” she said, her voice escaping her in a rush. “Sorry. I’m not keeping us from taking off, am I?”

“No . . . because I just got here,” Oliver said, working up a smile. “Even when I’m not a CEO, I’m always late.” 

Her cheeks flushed as she remembered that joke. The joke, and the intense eye contact Oliver had been making with her at the time. It had been a bit strange, how he had been looking at her; she remembered thinking that it was almost . . . hungry. 

Kind of like how he looked at her now, although hunger wasn’t the right word. No, there was more there now. All kinds of things she didn’t want to think about. 

“So, um, the plane. The jet,” she corrected quickly. “Where did you get it? And the pilots, too, unless you’re going to fly? Although I don’t know how you can, unless Digg is going to help, too?” 

A smile lit up his face, making her feel even more breathless. “Are you nervous, Felicity?” 

She pursed her lips. “Just curious,” she asked, sliding her glasses up. 

“A family friend,” Oliver said, surprising her a little with how readily he volunteered the information. “Someone I’ve known all my life. He was kind enough to offer me the jet and his crew when I asked.” 

That was another difference about Oliver’s life, Felicity had discovered. The people in his circle never batted an eyelash at lending their jets and their houses and their polo ponies to other people--but only to those also in the circle. The rich, upper-class circle. 

“Why don’t we go and get settled? Digg should be here any minute,” Oliver said, gesturing for her to climb up the stairs first. And then he lifted her suitcase from her hand. She was ready to protest and say she could carry her own suitcase, but then she decided that it wasn’t worth the argument.

“Okay,” Felicity agreed, carefully placing each foot on the stairs, since the soles of her high heels were wet from crossing the puddle-dotted tarmac. 

The jet’s appearance was deceiving; while it looked a little bedraggled on the outside, the inside was downright luxurious. And cozy, with a lot of overstuffed loveseats for seating instead of individual captain’s chairs like on the QC jet. 

“Grab a seat. I’m going to stow your suitcase with mine and then check in with the pilot,” Oliver said, not sounding at all winded from carrying both their suitcases, even though hers was full of shoes. 

Felicity had to smile, feeling touched even amid her embarrassment. It wasn’t like him to spell things out like this; she wondered if he was doing so in order to give her a little extra reassurance. She nodded and picked one of the loveseats, sliding over so she could look out the window. The storm which had left the puddles on the runway was over, and the setting sun was shining through the clouds, the sky a painting in pinks and oranges and gold. 

Sighing softly, she shifted around a little on the loveseat, getting as comfortable as she could while facing the prospect of sleeping in her clothes. Perhaps it was wishing for too much, but she was really hoping this trip might be a relaxing time. After all, it was for a wedding. People had fun at weddings--there was dancing and drinking and talking. And she was going with Oliver and Digg, two of her best friends. It was too bad Lyla was on assignment in Markovia and couldn’t be Digg’s plus-one. 

His actual plus-one, instead of being an invited guest in addition to maybe also being the plus-one of another invited guest. 

And that wasn’t the direction she wanted her thoughts to go in, Felicity thought with a shake of her head. 

No, they would have a good time, she decided. Last summer, she and Digg had spent a lot of time together. They had become good friends, between renovating the Foundry and looking for Oliver. This summer, he had been busy with Lyla, whenever she wasn’t working for ARGUS, and preparing for the baby (which was really the best news Felicity had heard in ages, because there didn’t exist a better set of future parents than John and Lyla). So this trip would be a great way to enjoy some time with Digg. 

Given that Oliver had been invited by the man who was basically his boss in the Bratva, this seemed like a work wedding for Oliver. She didn’t know how much he would be able to relax. How much time he would have to spend with her and Digg. But she hoped this trip would be better than their last trip to Russia. 

Without Isabel, it was already a million times better. 

Her lips pursed a little. As a feminist, she hated running down another woman. But she just couldn’t stop making an exception when it came to Isabel--she hadn’t liked the woman even before she found out the leggy business executive was evil. Or that she had slept with Oliver. 

It still stung. Having Isabel walk out of Oliver’s room, her dress unzipped and a cutting line at the ready. _I think she can take the night off, don’t you?_

The woman was dead. It was past time for Felicity to give up this grudge. But she just couldn’t. If it wasn’t for Isabel, Oliver would still have Queen Consolidated. Felicity would still have a job. And . . . and Felicity couldn’t help thinking that Isabel being Slade’s right-hand woman had some impact on Oliver’s decision to pick Felicity as the woman he loved, even though it wasn’t true. Because Isabel knew the rumors about them and might have told Slade . . .

Felicity leaned her head against the window, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. She hoped Digg would get here soon. Once he was here, they could take off, and with Digg around, she would have someone to talk to. Someone to help her get out of her head. 

This last year had been difficult--which was such a massive understatement. She still felt like she hadn’t fully dealt with a lot of things that had happened, like Oliver making her his assistant without asking first (which, now that she thought about it, was definitely a pattern, the whole doing-things-without-talking-first thing). And now that crime was taking a break--that _they_ were taking a break--it seemed like everything she had pushed to the back of her mind was bubbling up. Demanding some attention from her. And if she didn’t think all this over, she had a feeling her stack was going to collapse. 

And nobody--least of all her--wanted to see a Felicity go off the rails. 

XXX

They had been in the air for a few hours--long enough for them to have a dinner of Big Belly, provided by Digg, and for their after-dinner conversations to slowly draw to their natural conclusions. Now Digg was up towards the front of the jet, by the door to the cockpit, talking on his cell phone. Probably to Lyla, Felicity thought. She hadn’t seen Oliver for a while, and she had pulled out her tablet and was playing around with a few apps she had downloaded for this trip. Brushing up on her local knowledge, since she wanted to know more about Moscow. 

“Hi.” 

God, would his scary-good silent reflexes never make her jump? Felicity tightened her grip on her sliding tablet as she looked up at Oliver, just in time to see his smirk vanish. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s not nice to sneak up on people.” 

“I never heard that in any of the etiquette classes I went to,” Oliver said, his lips twisting into a tiny smile. 

“And how many of those classes did you actually go to?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

His smile widened and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Point. May I join you?” 

On a _loveseat_? One that was not nearly big enough for her and Oliver’s wide shoulders? 

_Felicity Meghan Smoak, you are being ridiculous. You need to control yourself, because you’re going to be around Oliver a lot this weekend and there doesn’t need to be more awkwardness than there already is._

With that mental pep talk done in a blink of an eye, Felicity nodded and scooched over to give Oliver some more room. He eased himself down, keeping a sliver of space between them, but Felicity could still feel the heat coming off his body. 

“What’s up?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as peppy cheerleader as she thought she did. 

Oliver’s hands rested on his knees. “I . . . I wanted to talk to you. About the wedding.” 

“Okay . . .” she said slowly, feeling confused. Because what was there to say? It was a wedding, even if it involved the Bratva, right? Or did they have some kind of weird traditions or something that were part of the ceremony?

Or maybe he was going to say he didn’t want her to come at all. That he wanted her to stay in the hotel room. 

The anger that crashed over her made her bite her lower lip. He--he wouldn’t make her fly all the way to freaking _Russia_ and then lock her up all by herself because of his stupid overprotective streak, would he? Because if that was what he was about to say, she was going to give him a lot of things to think about. 

“I don’t want this to sound like a criticism, but--but you talk a lot,” Oliver said, his voice hesitant. He sounded like he was picking his words very carefully. 

Which did not make her understand any better where he was going with this. Although it did make her anger fade.

“Um, yeah?” she replied, trying to smile a little. “I think everyone knows that by now.” 

He smiled a little. “Well . . . not the people at the wedding. So I guess--I’m just saying you might--you should--” He stopped and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I think you’ll feel more at ease if you watch what you say.” 

There were so many conflicting thoughts in her head at this moment, it was a good thing she was a genius. Because who knew Oliver could speak in sentence fragments? And wow, he was really nervous about her saying the wrong thing. Almost like he was scared for her. But . . . he wasn’t going to put her in some ivory tower and tell her it was about keeping her safe. No, he was just . . . giving her a friendly warning. Without trying to tell her what to do. Or making her feel embarrassed about her word vomit tendencies.

Who was this man and what had he done with Oliver Queen? 

But instead of calling him on this strange new behavior, she just shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “I always watch what I say, as the words fly out of my mouth.” 

His lips quirked upwards again, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Do you actually see the words?” 

“The really bad times, yeah,” Felicity said, happy to play along a little, if only to keep this easy conversation going. 

He huffed out one of those little not-laughs of his, before his face grew serious. “I’m only concerned because I don’t really trust the Bratva. There’s going to be a lot of people there that I don’t know. People whose reactions I can’t anticipate.” 

Felicity frowned a little. “What about Anatoly? I mean, Mr. Knyazev. I--I thought he was your friend.” 

“He is,” Oliver answered easily. “But really, there’s only so much he can do. Even in his position. And he’ll be distracted, after all. It’s his wedding.” 

Turning slightly on the loveseat so she could see him better, Felicity asked, “I didn’t know if a Bratva wedding is any different from any other wedding.” 

For a moment, Oliver was silent. Like he was lost in thought. Then he turned his head and looked at her. “No, it probably won’t be any different from your typical Russian wedding. So a lot of kisses on the cheek, a lot of vodka, a lot of loud music and dancing and talking.” 

“So yeah, a normal wedding,” Felicity said, feeling a little bit relieved. 

“Yeah.” 

After that, they didn’t speak. The silence had that underwater quality you got on planes, when the engines outside the plane and the fans recirculating air inside the cabin were muted. When the softest of whispers were loud enough to be heard easily.

Her sudden yawn made her bring a hand to her mouth quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Felicity said, looking at Oliver sheepishly. “I didn’t think I was that tired . . .” 

“It’s the flying,” Oliver offered with a smile, rising to his feet. He reached his hand out but hesitated, before lightly patting her shoulder. “Get some sleep. And don’t worry about what might happen. Digg or I will be with you the whole weekend.” He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes so very blue in the dim light. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

The sincerity of his words hit her right in her gut. No, actually, it was right in her heart. So she gave in to her instinct--or maybe it was her desire--and lightly covered his hand with her own. “I’ve never doubted that,” she said softly, smiling at him. “Not for a second, Oliver.”

Something about her words made his eyes look like they were glowing. Not in a strange ‘silly movie about supernatural creatures’ way. More like he was . . . happy. Really, really happy. 

“Good night,” he said quietly, giving her shoulder the lightest of squeezes before he drew his hand away from under hers. 

She nodded and smiled a little, putting aside her tablet. “I’m just--I’m just going to say good night to John. And are there any blankets around here? I figured since it’s a private jet, there are actually blankets, unlike when you fly commercial now, you know? Or maybe you don’t--have you ever flown like a regular person? Not that you’re not regular, I just meant--” 

It had been a long time since she had let out a babble like that. She didn’t know why she was doing it and she definitely didn’t like it--not when Oliver had just been cautioning her to be more careful.

But he didn’t seem to be that worried, if the amused little smile on his face was anything to go by. “Are you trying to get it all out before we get there?” he asked, his eyes legitimately sparkling.

“Believe me, I’ve tried that--it doesn’t work,” Felicity said, feeling her cheeks go pink. And before this strangely flirtatious conversation went any further, she stepped around Oliver and walked up the aisle, sitting down on the loveseat across from Digg’s.

And it was probably her imagination that said Oliver watched her walk away.

XXX

“Sorry about that,” Digg said, his voice pulling her away from gazing out the window.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Felicity reassured him, turning to look at him. “I was just taking in the scenery. And if Lyla needs you, she comes first. How is she?”

Digg’s face lit up with a gentle smile. “She’s good. Enjoying her last mission.”

“Yeah?” Felicity asked curiously. “Is it hard? Wait, of course it’s hard--for her and for you.”

“It’s not easy,” Digg conceded with a nod. “But she’s only three months along. Once she starts to show, she’s on a desk--and Lyla hates desk duty. Makes her cranky. So I kinda want to put that off for a little while. As long as she’s taking all the precautions she can.”

His words were amused, but Felicity could still sense the worry underneath. She reached her hand across the aisle and patted his knee. “I know Lyla is doing everything possible to keep herself and the baby safe. And I’m so happy for the both of you--for the three of you, actually.”

“Thank you,” Digg said, smiling at her. 

“And just think, cranky working-on-a-desk Lyla has probably prepared you for how pregnancy will affect her,” Felicity pointed out.

“Oh, God,” Digg groaned quietly. “Pregnant and on desk duty--I’m gonna start sleeping at the Foundry like Oliver.”

Laughing, Felicity grinned at him. “It won’t be that bad. And you know my couch is always open to you.” 

He gave her a long look, his manner growing serious. “Are you okay about all this?”

Playing dumb was never an option with Digg, so Felicity didn’t even bother trying. She looked around, noticing that Oliver had taken a seat at the back of the jet, and then turned back to Digg.

“I’m a little concerned,” she admitted softly. “Because none of us knows what’s going to happen or what to expect--not even Oliver.”

“Someone in Anatoly’s position has the power to make sure nothing hinky happens,” Digg said.

“Here’s hoping,” Felicity wished. “And at least I have the best bodyguards around,” she added, trying to sound upbeat. 

Digg smiled. “You do. Not that I think Oliver will let you out of his sight for very long.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe he was okay with either of us coming, but especially you.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, for her to figure out why they struck the wrong note with her. And when she did, she felt a flutter of anger. “You know you just contradicted yourself,” she pointed out. “He doesn’t want to let me out of his sight, but he didn’t want to leave me behind.”

“Because Oliver doesn’t know what he wants,” Digg said. 

_Well, when you put it like that . . ._

Blowing out a breath, Felicity shrugged. “He said he didn’t really have a choice--that he had to go to the wedding. I guess he figured since we were all invited, we should all go. That we didn’t have a choice, either.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Digg said, watching her carefully.

Was it just her imagination, or was it like Digg knew about her awkward ‘be my plus-one?’ conversation with Oliver? But Felicity didn’t want to ask John Diggle if Oliver had talked about it to him. About her. She didn’t really want to talk about Oliver with Digg at all. Because it would be too tempting to ask John if he thought that maybe Oliver meant . . . it. The veiled invitation to be his plus-one, the flirting and over-protectiveness--it was enough to make someone think his “confession” in the mansion didn’t really need air quotes.

That he meant it. 

Digg knew Oliver in a way she didn’t. He could get Oliver to open up. So if John told her that Oliver didn’t really think of her like that . . . his words would have as much weight as if it had been Oliver telling her himself. 

Smiling softly, she gave his knee a light pat. “I’m okay, John. Everything’s fine.”

For a long moment, he looked at her, his gaze full of warmth and caring. But most of all, respect. Digg respected her so much and it was one of the things she loved most about him.

“I know things have been changing,” Digg said. “Roy training with us more, me and Lyla, Oliver losing the company . . .”

She nodded in acknowledgement when Digg paused. He smiled and went on. “But I’m always here for you, Felicity. No matter what.” 

Her throat felt choked from all her emotions, so it took her a moment to reply. Somehow, she managed to smile, instead of tearing up. “That’s one of the things I’ve always known, John.” 

Before she turned into a blubbering mess, Felicity rose up and kissed his cheek lightly. “Good night,” she said softly, heading up the aisle towards her loveseat.

“Sweet dreams, Felicity,” he called out just as softly.

As she settled herself on the loveseat, picking up the soft, fuzzy blanket that Oliver must have put there for her--sometimes she couldn’t believe how he always listened to her--Felicity certainly hoped she would have sweet dreams. 

Glasses off, she curled up on the loveseat. Pulling the blanket over herself and closing her eyes, Felicity let the quiet hum of the plane’s engines slowly lull her to sleep.

XXX

Felicity was comfortable. So comfortable. Which was surprising, since she had fallen asleep sitting up. And that was not exactly her favorite position in which to sleep. But she was warm and leaning against something firm yet soft, and there was the most amazing scent of pine trees and grass and . . . leather?

Her eyes popped open, her blurry vision filled with blue plaid. Oliver. They were both slouched on the loveseat, her legs still curled up and almost resting on top of his thigh, his legs stretched out in front of him. And her head was on his shoulder. 

When had Oliver sat down beside her? There were so many seats on the plane, and he had been at the back of the plane . . . why had he changed seats? She had been facing the window--how had she rolled around to end up with her head on his shoulder? Was he asleep, too? She didn’t think so--he wasn’t breathing like someone did when they were asleep.

Oh, God, had she drooled on him? 

Ducking her head a little, Felicity wiped her fingers over her mouth, relieved that her fingers didn’t come away damp. It seemed pretty likely that Oliver was drool-free. So maybe she could face him. 

Slowly, she lifted her head off his shoulder--his very comfortable shoulder--and craned her neck to look up at him. And he was so close, and his eyes were open, and he was looking right at her. With an expression that seemed too warm and content to be real. She wanted to blame her bad eyesight for making her think he was looking at her like she was his sun, but this close, her eyes worked just fine. 

“Hi,” she blurted out. “I mean, good morning. Wait, is it morning? I mean, are we close to landing?” 

Oliver let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, it’s morning--just before eight. We’ll be landing in a half hour or so.” 

“Oh, okay,” she said, moving back a little. Not because she really wanted to, but because . . . she needed to. Or else she would let her head drop back onto his shoulder. And even though Oliver made a really good pillow, she couldn’t take advantage of him like that. 

She ran her hands through her hair, slid on her glasses, then looked at him curiously. “How did I end up with the Arrow as my pillow?” 

Something flashed over Oliver’s face. Something like embarrassment? 

“I went to check on the crew, and when I walked back, I noticed you didn’t look very comfortable,” Oliver said, shifting on the loveseat. “I thought . . . I didn’t want you to wake up feeling stiff. I hope I didn’t overstep any lines--” 

“Oh, no,” Felicity said quickly, trying to defuse the awkwardness. “It was very nice of you. More than nice, really. I mean, I could have drooled all over you.” 

_Why_ did she have to mention the drool?

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t want to appear like he wasn’t taking her seriously. Which was an expression Oliver wore often, especially lately. 

“No drool,” he said, his head against the back of the loveseat and turned towards her.

And not for the first time, and not for the last time, Felicity was struck by just how handsome Oliver was. There were a million different words she could use--hot, gorgeous, sexy, any of the lingo she saw on Tumblr that made her laugh--but really, handsome was accurate. He was a handsome man, even when he looked tired. 

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked, feeling concerned. They had a long day ahead of them and while she knew Oliver had plenty of experience of acting on little sleep, that didn’t mean she wanted him to go without rest. 

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m okay.” 

“Oliver.” She reached out, resting her hand lightly on his forearm. When her fingers first touched him, she could feel the tension in him--a tension that she could feel easing out of him, slowly and steadily. 

“I didn’t get much,” he admitted slowly. “But I’ve never slept well on planes.” He paused, and then a slow, soft smile appeared on his face. One she hadn’t been expecting, one that made her stomach flip and her whole body tingle.

It was the smile she had seen on the beach on Lian Yu. 

“Even before the island,” he continued, his words almost making her shiver. Because it was a little bit spooky that she had been thinking about the island, and here he was, talking about his life before the island. 

“Life after the island” had different meanings for them. For Oliver, it was about being rescued from Lian Yu, about beginning his quest to save Starling City. For her . . . it was about Oliver neither accepting or refusing the out she had given him. Keeping them in this limbo, this strange place where she wasn’t sure what they were, but she knew they weren’t what they used to be. They couldn’t be--not with those three little words out there.

And it was probably pretty selfish of her to compare their two experiences, but . . . but she just didn’t know if he meant it and it was starting to drive her crazy. And she knew she needed to find the courage to ask him if he meant it, but it was such a shift in her thinking. To consider that Oliver might actually care for her like that was . . . she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She shied away from it like a horse in the middle of a fireworks demonstration. 

But it was getting harder and harder to avoid thinking about it. Especially when he smiled at her like that, with his eyes soft and warm, like he thought she was something special. 

“I hope you get a chance to nap later today,” she finally said, giving Oliver what she hoped was a friendly smile. “I should probably clean up a little.” 

He nodded slowly. “There will be a car waiting for us once we land at Vnukovo. We’ll go right to the hotel and get checked in before the rehearsal dinner.” 

“Great,” she chirped, rising to her feet and running a hand over her hair. She could feel stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail, and her mouth was crying out for toothpaste and mouthwash. But when she looked at Oliver--who looked ridiculously good, if tired--she didn’t feel as messy and gross as she did before. All thanks to how he was looking at her. 

XXX

The last time she was in Russia, Felicity had been too anxious and worried, not to mention avoiding Isabel as much as she could, to really enjoy the feeling of being in another country. The ride from Vnukovo airport to the center of Moscow would only be thirty-five minutes without traffic. But Oliver said dryly, “There’s always traffic.” 

Felicity didn’t mind. Once they reached the city, she looked out the window, taking in the view. It helped keep her sleepiness at bay--and prevented a repeat of her sleeping on Oliver’s shoulder, since he was sitting next to her, Digg up front by their driver. Which didn’t make much sense, since Digg didn’t know Russian, but at least the driver did speak English. 

The road signs made almost no sense to her; she had only had enough time to glance at the Russian language app she had downloaded, and it seemed to be more about teaching you how to say common phrases than actually learning the alphabet and words, really. So she focused on the scenery. 

It was interesting: seeing buildings that she guessed had been built during the Cold War, all blocks of concrete, built right next to older buildings with graceful lines. There were modern office buildings, their facades just glass, beside small little shops with small display windows and signs that looked very old. 

“It’s called Gorky Park.” 

Oliver’s voice in her ear made her jump a little. “What?” she asked, turning to see that Oliver was leaning over towards her a little. 

He pointed out the window to her left. “That’s Gorky Park. If we’re where I think we are . . .” He leaned closer to her, ducking his head to look out the window. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Right through there is the Luna Carousel; it’s a two-story carousel. It’s pretty. The whole park was renovated recently.” 

“Oh,” Felicity said, surprised that Oliver knew so much about the area, before feeling foolish. Oliver must have spent some time in Moscow when he became a member of the Bratva; he had to have learned something about the city. 

“Surprised?” he asked, once again apparently able to read her mind. 

She gave him a small smile. “I just never pictured you as a tour guide.”

He chuckled and started pointing out a few things to her, like the Moskva River and then, to her amazement, Red Square. But she had barely gotten a look at the famous landmark when the car turned away from the historic site and came to a stop. 

“We’re here?” she asked in surprise. 

“We’re here,” he said, opening the car door and stepping out, only to freeze, blocking her way out of the car.

“Oliver?” she asked, feeling confused.

There was such tension in his frame. He acted like he hadn’t heard her, and then suddenly he was moving away so she could get out of the car. 

Frowning, Felicity got out of the car, looking up at the hotel. And . . . her clothes were not nearly nice enough for this place. Because this hotel was so elegant and amazing, with its yellow stone and white trim, looking like a graceful grande dame perched beside the river. 

And while her current outfit of high heels, black trousers, frilly tank top and light pink sweater was great for flying, Felicity felt very underdressed. And she immediately started reviewing what was inside her suitcase, trying to figure out if the dresses she had packed for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding would be nice enough. 

While she had been lost in thought, Oliver had gotten over whatever had made him hesitate and had gone into the hotel. Digg drew up beside her. “Okay there?” 

Felicity nodded, still looking up at the hotel. “This is really nice. Like, really nice, Digg.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty fancy.” Digg looked at her and smiled. “You’re worrying about your clothes, aren’t you?” 

“Now I’m kinda wishing I had stayed home,” she joked as they walked into the hotel. It took everything she had to not let her mouth drop open at the sight of the lobby, all marble and pretty chandeliers. 

“You’re gonna knock everyone’s socks off,” Digg said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Looking around, she spied Oliver. “I hope so,” she replied distractedly, wondering why Oliver looked so tense. 

Crossing the lobby, she drew up beside him. “Oliver? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t even try to deny anything was wrong. He just turned to look at her, his lips pressed together. 

“There’s a problem with our reservation,” he said, the frustration rolling off him in waves. “We’ve got two rooms: one for Digg with a double bed, and then . . . one with a king-size bed. For you and me, according to the hotel’s records.” 

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting in this chapter, there are going to be Russian words and phrases sprinkled through the story. I’ve included translations at the end of the fic, courtesy of Google Translate. I highly recommend the Google Translate extension if you use Chrome, since you can highlight any foreign language text and get a translation by clicking a button.
> 
> My knowledge of the Bratva comes from Wikipedia and the show itself, so it's not that accurate. But I hope I've still captured the feel of the organization in this fic.

_So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision_  
_**Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones**_  
Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding  
As we lay them on the granite countertop

XXX

He checks the gun carefully, using his fingers alone. He’s used this type of gun before and knows what to expect. Oliver still does not like guns. Doesn’t like their power and lack of control. It reminds him too much of being Ollie Queen: reckless and impulsive, controlled only by his emotions. 

That isn’t who he has had to become. Now he is utterly controlled and calculated, behavior he has learned in the last nine months since he became part of the Bratva. When Leonid and his enforcers had brought him into a dingy warehouse and thrown him, beaten and bloody, at Anatoly’s feet. 

Anatoly had executed Leonid himself, since Oliver Queen, the man who had saved Anatoly Knyazev’s life, was supposed to be brought in without injury. And seeing that--seeing the man he remembered as pragmatic with a wry sense of humor--seeing the blank look on Anatoly’s face as he pulled the trigger, Oliver knew who he had to be. What he had to be. 

Everything is in order with the gun. He chambers a round but leaves the safety on, then carefully shifts his legs, making sure his mobility remains intact despite his cramped position. 

And then, his thoughts turn to the last wedding he attended. In Starling City, with Tommy, where they traded flasks back and forth during the ceremony--his filled with scotch, Tommy’s with gin. And then during the reception, they continued drinking as they played Thong or No Thong on the female members of the bridal party before confirming their guesses. 

Oliver had won. And enjoyed a threesome with a hot brunette and a kinky redhead. 

Thinking about it now, he feels . . . he’s not sure what he feels. Regret. Disgust. Shame. Embarrassment. And the tiniest shred of longing. 

This isn’t what he should be doing, though. Remembering and reminiscing isn’t the way to prepare for what’s to come. He needs to be ready to do this quickly and cleanly. There can be no slip-ups, no mistakes. 

His entire future hinges on this job. All of his plans require his elevation to Captain. So he cannot fail.

And he will not fail.

XXX

It took twenty minutes for Oliver to see Anatoly, which was more than enough time for Oliver to develop several cunning methods of hurting his friend. Because this had Anatoly’s fingerprints all over it. How else to explain how the adjoining rooms Felicity had booked had turned into two separate rooms, six floors apart, with wildly unequal accommodations?

So he knew how the room change happened. But he didn’t know why, and he didn’t like not knowing. 

It could just be a mistake. Some kind of screw-up with the hotel. But with the hotel fully booked, according to the woman at the front desk, his best bet was to talk to Anatoly and find out more. Maybe his old friend was just playing some kind of joke on him. 

Because the two separate rooms left him with two bad options: either he would share the room with the king-sized bed with Digg, leaving Felicity alone and unprotected . . . or he would share the same room with Felicity. 

If this was a joke, Oliver wasn’t laughing. And neither would Anatoly when Oliver was done with him.

“Oliver!” Anatoly’s voice was cheerful as Oliver walked into the suite on the top floor. He had to grit his teeth as his eyes flicked around the room, remembering four years ago, when he was in this very hotel--and for a wedding. But a wedding that did not end well. 

But he hadn't been in this suite. And he needed to keep his emotions in check during this conversation.

Somehow, he managed to greet Anatoly without immediately snapping at the man. “It is good to see you so soon,” Oliver said, actually meaning it in spite of the current situation. “I don’t mean to be abrupt, but I would like a word in private.” 

“Of course, of course,” Anatoly replied, looking at a barrel-chested man who could give Digg a run for his money in terms of physique. Without a word, the man nodded to everyone else in the room and they all withdrew. 

“Come, we must have a drink. To celebrate my wedding!” 

Not unlike his last visit to Russia, Oliver couldn’t help noticing the changes in Anatoly. When they met on the Amazo, he had been very grim, very aware of life’s ironies. Very Russian. Now, though, Anatoly had a sense of good cheer about him, even with his high position in the Bratva. Oliver thought he was good at keeping his two lives separate--making Oliver Queen and the Arrow different men in one body--but he was clearly surpassed in that skill by Anatoly Knyazev. 

Knowing that they would have to do the pleasantries, and knowing that Felicity was safe with Digg in the lobby, Oliver took a seat on a gilded rococo couch, opposite the wing chair that Anatoly settled into. He took the shot glass of vodka and lifted it in the air. “прочность. Which I believe you’ll need as a married man.” 

Anatoly laughed loudly and nodded. “Too right, my friend, too right.” He returned Oliver’s salute and then tossed back his shot. Oliver did the same, setting the glass down on the low, marble-topped table between them. 

“Another?” Anatoly asked, taking the bottle and refilling his glass.

“No, thank you. Later, I’m sure, at the rehearsal dinner, I won’t be able to refuse,” Oliver said, letting his anger fade for the time being.

“It will be a party to remember--this whole weekend! I cannot wait for you to meet my bride. I never thought I would marry, but one day, I met Galina and that was that,” Anatoly mused, leaning back in his chair. “Which is something I’m sure you understand.” 

For a moment, he almost wished he had taken another shot. A little more liquid courage, because he didn’t like the vibe he was getting from Anatoly. He seemed to know a lot more about Oliver than he should, given their limited contact. 

“Anatoly, there seems to be a mix-up with the rooms I booked,” Oliver began, looking at the other man. “I would appreciate your help.” 

“Whatever the problem is, we will fix it. What’s wrong?” Anatoly said, eyeing Oliver before he did his second shot. 

“It was arranged that for myself and my friends, we would have two rooms, with a connecting door. But when we arrived, we had two rooms, on different floors, with very different features,” Oliver explained, trying to sound calm and unruffled. Like he didn’t really care about the mistake, but was bothered by the inefficiency and inequality. “Obviously, that is not what we were expecting--and not what is required by us.” 

Anatoly gave him a measuring look. “But it is what you need, I believe. To come back here, to this place, you needed your friends. Which is why I invited them.” 

His mouth went dry. So Anatoly remembered. He knew that this was the hotel where Oliver had carried out a mission four years ago. 

When Oliver had read the wedding invitation, the name of the hotel had sounded familiar--he had been sure that he had visited it before, but he couldn’t remember for what purpose. But then, when he stepped out of the car and looked up at the facade, he remembered. Remembered and felt a cold shiver go down his spine. 

This was the last place he wanted to be--the last event he wanted to remember. As much as he had used his Bratva connections since he returned to Starling City, he had worked to keep his memories deeply buried. To forget how an American playboy had become a Bratva captain.

And having Felicity and Digg be here, without knowing what this place meant . . . it made him question why he hadn’t found out more about why Anatoly had invited them. Why he had let all of them fall right in line with Anatoly’s plan. 

Could they leave? Make up some excuse and just go right back to the airport? Yes, they could . . . but Anatoly would know why. He would know that Oliver was running. And it would damage his standing even more, not to mention hurt Anatoly. There would be whispers about him not controlling his men, about showing signs of weakness. 

Running his hands over his face, Oliver took a deep breath. “So you invited John and Felicity for my support.” 

“Yes,” Anatoly said. “When you were here, last year, I saw how much you depended on each of them. And I know your stubbornness, Oliver. I knew you would need them once you remembered what you did in this place. And since I have a task for you . . .”

Anatoly let his voice trail off, giving Oliver a chance to ask questions. But he was still processing the fact that even with his limited knowledge, Anatoly knew how important Digg and Felicity were to him. It made Oliver feel annoyed with himself, frustrated by his inability to hold back his feelings for the people that mattered most, feelings that made them targets. Which was the last thing he wanted.

Why couldn't he use all his Bratva experience to be the cold, hard man he used to be? The man who had ruthlessly pursued his goals without weaknesses like empathy or kindness? The man that could keep people safe?

Because those two men cannot exist within one person.

“I will tell you more about this favor when it is necessary. For now, let us agree that you would not have brought your friends along unless you thought there was no other choice.” 

Oliver pursed his lips at how well Anatoly knew him, and Anatoly chuckled. “And perhaps I just wanted to be a meddler and try to make other people happy, like I am happy.” 

“Is that why you changed our room reservations?” Oliver asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

Anatoly laughed harder. “Guilty.” 

Huffing out a laugh, he shook his head. “I don’t understand the point of your meddling, though.” 

“You don’t?” Anatoly asked.

Affecting a nonchalance he didn’t fully feel, Oliver nodded. “Because you seem to think that there’s something going on between Felicity and me.”

“How does my ‘meddling’ say that?” Anatoly leaned back in his chair.

Oliver frowned. “The separated rooms--Felicity isn’t able to defend herself, she doesn’t know anyone here or even the language--I had wanted to keep her close to me and Digg during this trip. But still allow her privacy, since we are not involved.”

There was a long pause and Oliver wondered why Anatoly stayed quiet. Why he was sitting there, looking at Oliver with a raised eyebrow. And he could feel all the denials on the tip of his tongue, all the reasons why there would never be anything between Felicity and himself, but he held back.

Finally, Anatoly said, “That’s it? That’s your problem?”

“Yes?” he said slowly, only to grimace at the look of delight on Anatoly’s face.

“Oh, Oliver, you are even more foolish than you were when we first met,” he crowed. “You want that woman with you--very much.”

The frustration was rising in Oliver. How in the hell did Anatoly think he knew so much about him? It made his voice crack with emotion when he snapped, “Why do you think I want Felicity with me, then?”

To Anatoly’s credit, he let the humor fade from his face, growing serious. “From the way you looked at her, Oliver. I was with you but an hour in her company, and I could see. Yes, it was how you looked at her--and how she looked at you.”

“We’re friends,” Oliver said, trying to give the words more weight. Make them emphatic and final. Enough to counter the certainty in Anatoly’s voice. “This situation you’ve imagined, it’s like something out of a movie. But this isn’t a movie, and I do not want to choose between Felicity’s safety and my friendship with her.”

“You Americans make everything more difficult with all this morality,” Anatoly tutted. “Fine, then. Put your счастье in the small room and I will station a guard outside her door. A trusted man, one that will protect her with his life--you have my word.”

It was more than generous of Anatoly. Even if all of this was thanks to a sudden desire to play matchmaker, Oliver knew that Anatoly didn’t have to make this offer. It would be the perfect choice, allowing Felicity her freedom and protecting her safety, while keeping her at arm's length when he knew he would be struggling with his past. And he didn’t doubt that Anatoly would use one of his best men to protect Felicity.

But that didn’t change that Oliver hated the idea.

Swallowing, Oliver rose to his feet. “I will talk with Felicity and find out what she prefers.”

“Mmm,” Anatoly hummed, looking amused. “Very well. If счастье wants the bodyguard, just send word and it is done.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, holding his hand out to Anatoly.

The other man stood up and shook his hand firmly. “You’re welcome, Oliver. But I hope Felicity is smarter than you.”

“She’s smarter than pretty much everyone,” Oliver replied, unable to help the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth.

Anatoly chuckled--but unlike before, there was a hint of bitterness in it. It was more like how Oliver was used to Anatoly sounding. “Women need to be, when it comes to the men they love.”

“Anatoly,” Oliver said firmly, “it’s only friendship between us--on both sides.”

Before Anatoly could reply, Oliver let go of his hand and turned, walking out of the room.

And the whole way back to the lobby, Oliver very carefully kept his mind blank. Refusing to think about what Anatoly had said, about whether as long ago as last fall he had indicated he had deeper feelings for Felicity than he realized he had shown.

Refusing to consider if Felicity might feel more than attraction towards him--and that whatever she felt was strong enough to be seen by strangers.

XXX

The low-hanging chandeliers and numerous pieces of furniture in the hotel's lobby made Oliver feel hemmed in. After his conversation with Anatoly, he just wanted to take a few deep breaths, have a moment when he didn’t have to school his expression and hide what he was feeling. That didn't feel possible in here.

But even more than that, he wanted to find Felicity. Make sure she knew she had options--that it didn’t have to be awkward. He would lay out the possibilities and let her decide. She was smart and knew her limits. Felicity would make the right choice.

Now he just needed to find her.

The lobby was crowded with people, talking and laughing loudly. If there was one thing that held true about Russians, it was that they weren’t reserved. But it meant his task was even more difficult.

_Where the hell was she?_ Oliver thought as he kept looking. If nothing else, Digg should stand out around here, but there was no sign of him. And there were quite a few petite blondes milling around. 

He was ready to pull out his phone and call her when he caught sight of Felicity at the other end of the lobby. She was in profile to him, but something didn’t seem right. She looked . . . tense.

Setting his jaw, Oliver pushed through the crowd, moving past broad-shouldered _boeviks_ and weasely _kassirs_ , stepping around young women who made eyes at him and middle-aged cougars who let their hands trail over his bicep or shoulder. None of them mattered, though. Not when he needed to know what was going on with Felicity.

And then he saw what was happening.

Felicity was being backed into an alcove, even as she tried to hold her ground. Three young men, thick-necked like the meatheads he had encountered in his frat days, stood in a half-circle around her, blocking her from getting away. 

Because she wanted to get away. She didn’t want these guys talking to her. It was so clear and obvious, it made Oliver’s blood boil. But . . . but he knew Felicity. She wouldn’t like it if he just swooped in. Not unless she really was in danger. She would want to try and get out of the situation on her own. 

“Come, baby, one drink,” the middle one said to Felicity as Oliver got within earshot. He moved into Felicity’s line of sight, making eye contact with her as he he stood to the side. She saw him and an expression of relief flickered over her face. When she realized he was staying back, letting her deal with the men, there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Gratitude? Or pride? 

The man repeated his offer with a leer on his face. The man’s English was sing-songy, like he had memorized come-ons from American TV shows. All three of them had the look of _shestyorkas_ \--errand boys, just starting out in the Bratva. But they also had an arrogance about them, which made Oliver think they were following in their fathers’ or brothers’ footsteps.

Felicity shook her head. “No, thank you--um, нет.”

“You want talk Russian? I teach,” Asshole #1 said, stepping towards Felicity.

The other two snickered, one leaning over and exchanging words the ringleader. Words in Russian that Oliver was close enough to hear.

“Бьюсь об заклад, она не носит ничего в этих штанах, - что задница не должны быть покрыты на всех.”

And Oliver was taken back to that game of Thong or No Thong with Tommy, but he was positive that their game had been good-natured and somewhat innocent. Not a way to intimidate women, like these men were doing to Felicity.

The ringleader chuckled and ran his eyes over Felicity, who immediately knew something was going on. Oliver could tell by the way her eyes widened for a moment behind her glasses. Then she pasted on a smile. 

“Look, I’m not interested. Now let me move,” she said, trying to edge around one of the assholes on the left.

At a nod from the ringleader, the asshole grabbed Felicity’s arm. And Oliver was done.

Moving swiftly and instinctively, he kicked the ringleader in the back of his knee, dropping him to the floor. He yanked the asshole’s hand off Felicity, bending his hand back to just before the point where his wrist would break. The third man, his face pale, stepped back, trying to get away, until Oliver barked at him to stop.

Drawing up to his full height, Oliver pulled the handsy asshole away from Felicity as he took the collar of the ringleader’s shirt and yanked him up. Not so tough now, he was whimpering and clutching at his knees.

“Apologize,” Oliver said roughly in Russian, his gaze hard as he looked at each man.

They should be grateful that all he was asking for was an apology. Because he wanted to teach them a lesson about scaring women, about touching a woman without her consent. 

And more than that, he wanted to rip them to pieces for touching Felicity without respect. For taking the smallest bit of her light.

There was a pause, and then the ringleader started talking fast. “We are sorry, Captain. We would never dishonor a man of your standing by touching your woman--”

Oliver twisted his shirt collar, putting pressure on his airway.

“No,” he said in English. “Apologize to her.”

For the first time since he intervened, he let his eyes meet Felicity’s. Her lips were pressed together and her face was pale except for the two spots of color on her cheeks. He couldn’t read her and that made him worry. But he couldn’t let these men leave without apologizing to Felicity.

When he relaxed his grip on the ringleader’s shirt so he could speak, the man blurted out, “I’m sorry. Very sorry, miss.”

A look from Oliver and the other two men quickly nodded and repeated the word “Sorry” a few times.

Only then did Oliver let the men go, stepping back and dropping his arms to his sides. All three men scrambled to get away, leaving Oliver and Felicity alone.

And that suddenly felt more awkward than any other moment he had shared with Felicity. Even the time during the casino job when she said it felt good having him inside her.

Oliver nearly groaned, because that was the _last_ thing he should be thinking about right now.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at her and tried to keep his voice gentle. “Where’s Digg?”

Felicity licked her lips nervously. “He . . . he got a call from Lyla, but he had crappy reception and it was so loud in here, he went outside. He only left ten minutes ago, if that much.”

“I’m not mad at him, Felicity,” Oliver said, wanting to reach out and take her shoulders in his hands. Wanting to reassure her, to comfort her.

“You were mad at them, though,” Felicity stuttered. “Not that I blame you--I was really mad at them, too--and if I could have, I might have done what you did, except without the Russian.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, hesitating a moment before stepping towards her, watching her face to see if it was okay for him to be that close.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “It was a little scary, since ‘no’ is not as universal as I thought. I totally should have spent more time learning handy Russian phrases.”

Smiling wasn’t the right response right now. It wasn’t how he would normally respond. Because normally, he would still be mad, still be scared. The adrenaline would be pumping through his veins. But for some reason, it wasn’t. No, he was almost . . . calm? And incredibly amused and impressed and _proud_ of Felicity.

Whenever he doubted whether he really loved Felicity, whenever he wondered if what he felt for her was love, something like this would happen. A moment when the combination of feelings was so intense and full and deep that he just knew.

He was in love with Felicity Smoak, because this had to be what love felt like.

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling at her.

Felicity smiled back at him before opening her purse and pulling out her tablet. “I downloaded this app,” she said, her fingers flying over the screen. She looked at the tablet, and then said with an adorable amount of concentration, “Меня зовут Felicity.”

If he hadn't been able to see the screen, he would have almost no idea that she had attempted to say “My name is Felicity.”

There had been a million times that Felicity had proven she was a genius, but clearly any talent she had with languages was restricted to the computer type. And he couldn’t help grinning at her as she looked up at him.

“How was that?” she asked, looking nervous.

“Um, well . . .” he said, laughing a little--actually _laughing_ \--when she pouted and mock-punched him in the shoulder.

“Okay, so I’m only good at languages I type,” Felicity said, reading his mind. She pushed her glasses up, looking thoughtful. “I wonder if those translation apps are any good. But I’d need someone to tell me if it’s translating accurately.” 

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “Or I could teach you what you need to know.” 

Her face lit up. “You would do that?” She pressed her tablet against her chest, looking up at him with something in her eyes. Something that made him think she was interested. Excited. 

“If you wanted to--of course,” Oliver said. Slowly, pronouncing the words carefully, he repeated the sentence she had tried to say. “Меня зовут Felicity.”

“Min ya za voot Felicity,” she said slowly, watching him. 

“Much better,” he said, giving her a small smile. 

The way she smiled back at him, the way she bounced on her feet a little . . . seeing Felicity like this was infectious. She had always been able to pull him out of the darkness. It made him excited to teach her a little Russian. To be a teacher to her and help her learn something new. It was rare that he knew something she didn’t. And most of what he knew, she wouldn’t want to learn . . . and he didn’t want to teach her. But Russian? That he could share with her.

It made him feel . . . good. Like maybe there was more to him than just the hood.

“So now I know how to say my name is Felicity,” she said brightly. “That’s a good start.” 

“It is,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers so he didn’t do something like pull her into his arms.

“Oh, I almost forgot--did you talk to someone about the rooms?” Felicity asked hopefully. “Eventually, I’m going to need a shower. And a nap. That would be great.” 

He had almost forgotten why he was looking for her. At least, the specific reason at the moment, other than his general need and desire to be near her. 

“Oh--um, yes, I did,” Oliver said, trying to get his thoughts in order. Trying to follow his plan. To tell Felicity what the options were and let her choose. But then, he was talking. “We’re stuck with the rooms we have, Anatoly said.” 

It wasn’t his imagination--her smile faded a little at his words, right? 

“So I’ll be by myself?” she asked, her voice wavering just a bit. So little that only someone who knew Felicity very well would be able to hear it. 

“Anatoly promised he would put a guard on your room--someone he trusts,” he replied quickly.

“Is it someone you trust? I mean, do you know if he speaks English or if I’m going to need the super-crash course in Russian?” Felicity’s eyes were fixed on his as she clutched her tablet to her chest, her arms crossing her chest protectively. 

Automatically, he pulled a hand from his pocket and rested it on her shoulder. “I don’t know yet, but I can find out.” He paused, looking at her. “If . . . if you wanted . . . I could still give you the Russian lessons, but we could do it while sharing the larger room.” 

This was such a bad idea. And Oliver Queen was a man who was more than passingly familiar with bad ideas. So acknowledging that sharing a room with Felicity might be the most bad idea he had ever had . . . well, that was a high bar to set. 

But he didn’t want to leave Felicity alone. And he didn’t think she wanted to be alone, either. 

It was difficult to stand there quietly and let Felicity consider the choices, instead of spewing reassurances that they were friends, they could share a room, he would sleep on the floor, it didn’t have to be weird or awkward . . . 

Somehow he held his tongue--a feat that had never been so difficult as right now--and let her decide. He could see how intensely she was thinking this over, by the crinkle in her forehead and her distant gaze. 

This would be so much easier if Lyla wasn’t on assignment. Then Felicity and Lyla could share, and he and John would take the other room. Although . . . somehow he thought Lyla would object to not being with Digg. But at least then, it would be for Lyla and Digg that Oliver would offer to share with Felicity, and not because . . . because he wanted to spend time with her. Time that was alone and private and intimate. 

Oliver knew it would be dangerous. So dangerous. But he craved her company, her smiles and her light. He had always enjoyed being around Felicity, but ever since he had said those three words, it was like a switch had been flipped and he just . . . it was more than he wanted to be around her. He was starting to think he needed her. 

It wasn’t about sex. Well--it was partly about sex. But he had learned how to control himself, from the spoiled brat who thought he was in a drought if he went more than a week without a woman. Of course he was attracted to Felicity, of course he desired her. But even more than that, he just . . . he wanted her attention. Her regard. He wanted her all to himself. 

“Sorry about that, Lyla had some downtime so we were going over some paperwork she needed to fill out, but it took longer than we thought.” 

Digg’s voice was like a pin in a bubble, making Oliver tense and Felicity startle. With how observant he was, Digg immediately realized that something was going on. His eyes narrowed slightly and flicked back and forth between the two of them.

“Lyla’s okay?” Felicity asked quickly, her voice high-pitched. 

“Yeah, she’s good. Looking forward to coming home. She wishes she could be here,” Digg said. “Any luck with the rooms?” 

Mutely, Oliver shook his head and Digg frowned. “Okay . . . so what are we going to do about it?” 

“I’m going to share with Oliver.” 

Blinking, he looked at Felicity. He had hoped she might want to share with him, but having her actually agree to do so . . . 

“You sure about that, Felicity?” Digg asked. “I bet he snores.” 

“How do you know I don’t?” she countered, smiling up at Digg.

“Impossible,” Oliver said, trying not to feel awkward. “If anyone snores, it’s Digg.” 

Felicity snickered and Digg raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, that’s how you want to play this?”

It was so rare for all three of them to tease each other; it was usually two against one, and mostly it was Digg and Felicity making jokes while he stayed quiet. But something about teaching Felicity Russian and her agreeing to share the room with him, so she would be safe and protected . . . it let him relax. Made him feel free and easy, even with being here in this hotel. 

Honestly, none of this made sense. The one person that Felicity was most in danger from was him, yet he felt like no one could protect her like he could. He wanted to pull her to him and kiss her and make her his, but at the same time he felt he didn’t deserve her and he should make her leave--make her get far away from him. But having Felicity out in the world, away from him, all alone . . . 

There was no logic here. But that was what happened when your emotions got involved. Because Oliver knew when he cared about someone, logic and sense and reason went out the window. That was why he couldn't do what he knew he should do, and be the cold, ruthless protector he wanted to be. Because even more, he wanted to be happy. To be in love, to enjoy being with his friends. All he wanted to do was feel, and when his heart was at war with his head, it took everything he had to not act impulsively. 

And it had never been so difficult as it was with Felicity. 

“That’s how I want to play it,” he said, grinning a little. “I’ll get the keys. There’s time before the rehearsal dinner--”

“Sightseeing!” Felicity said quickly. “I want to see Moscow.” 

“Be nice to do the tourist thing and be normal for an afternoon,” Digg agreed. “I’m in. Let’s get checked in--Felicity, you watch the bags.” 

She nodded, plopping down on top of her suitcase and looking at her tablet. It was just so Felicity, to sit there and get lost in her own world, that Oliver had to look at her for an extra moment before he followed Digg to the registration desk.

The moment they were out of earshot, Digg looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “You know, I could have shared the room with Felicity.”

Oliver drew up short, feeling like a ton of bricks had fallen on him. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Digg rolled his eyes. “Of course neither of you came up with that option.” But then his friend looked at him, all the humor wiped from his face. “Oliver, are you sure about this?” 

He had been expecting this, so he was prepared. Kind of. Oliver nodded. “I’ll sleep on the floor, Digg.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Digg countered. “Spending so much time with Felicity . . . with how you feel . . .” 

“I’m not going to hurt her, John,” Oliver said, quietly and firmly. “And I won’t let anyone else hurt her.” 

His partner looked at him and pressed his lips together, then nodded. “Okay. But if you change your mind, we can figure something out. We could all share the larger room--it wouldn’t be the first time I slept on the floor, either. It’s bound to be more comfortable than an Afghani desert, that’s for sure.” 

“It’ll be fine, John. But I appreciate the offer,” Oliver reassured him. 

Digg snorted quietly and shook his head. “Man, you just like torturing yourself.” 

As they stepped up to the desk, Oliver glanced back at Felicity. He took in her active, graceful fingers, the curve of her cheek, her relaxed posture. 

Perhaps Digg was right. But Felicity was the sweetest torture he had ever experienced. And he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted it to end.

End, Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> прочность: strength  
> счастье: happiness, bliss, felicity  
> “Бьюсь об заклад, она не носит ничего в этих штанах, - что задница не должны быть покрыты на всех.”: “I bet she’s wearing nothing under those pants--that ass shouldn’t be covered at all.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone is super-excited for the room sharing, but because I’m an evil evil writer, it doesn’t happen in this chapter. Although it doesn’t not happen, either . . . I guess you’ll just have to read this chapter and see what that means. :-)

_So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces_  
 _And it did our thinking while we lived our lives_  
 _ **It counted up our feelings and divided them up even**_  
And it called that calculation perfect love

XXX

“Ooh, I might have made a mistake,” Felicity said as they walked back to the hotel. 

“A mistake?” Oliver asked, tensing up a little. 

She nodded. “Wearing these shoes,” she said, gesturing to her high heels. “I forgot how they pinch. And since I’ll be wearing heels all night, too . . .” 

“Want a piggyback ride?” Digg teased, throwing a glance at her over his shoulder. 

“Ha, ha, Digg,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Just wait, you might regret making that offer later.” 

“Felicity, you’re tiny. I think Digg or I are up for helping you give your feet a break, if you need it,” Oliver said, relaxed now and laughing quietly under his breath. 

Even though it was on the tip of her tongue to deny what he said--her, tiny? Perhaps compared to them and their arms, but she definitely had a tummy she wished was as flat as Sara’s--Felicity held back. Because seeing Oliver like this was so rare and special, she didn’t want to do anything to make him get all distant and broody. 

Today had been really nice. Which she hadn’t expected at all. She thought being back in Russia would remind them all of their last trip here. Digg having to go into that horrible prison to save Lyla, Oliver dealing with another secret from his past, and her . . . well, Russia had been full of harsh truths for Felicity. 

But somehow, those things hadn’t seemed to touch them. Perhaps it was the bright sunshine, or being here for pleasure instead of business, or just simply because they had all changed since last November. Facing Slade and defeating him had deepened the team’s bond--forged them into a near-unbreakable unit. 

At least, she hoped that was the case. Because Digg and Oliver were the closest thing she had to family, and no matter what, she didn’t want to lose them. Keeping the team intact mattered more than untangling whatever existed between herself and Oliver. 

Although figuring that out certainly was a priority after today. They had spent the afternoon wandering around Red Square, taking in the the breathtaking architecture and the heartbreaking history. Oliver had translated any of the informational signs she had paused to take in and had even gone along with her picture-taking, to an extent. 

Felicity knew that she would treasure the photos she had taken today--particularly the quick candid of Oliver she had snapped before he had noticed. He had been in profile, looking around and observing the crowd. And something in his gaze had been so wistful, yet also content at the same time, that she just had to capture it. It shouldn’t be possible, that combination of emotions, but that was what she saw on Oliver’s face. And it made her heart ache a little. 

Because she wanted him to be more than content. She wanted him to be happy. To realize what a hero he was, to know how much better he made people’s lives. 

Glancing over at him, she saw Oliver looking up at the hotel as the three of them approached the front doors. He seemed a bit tense, which made Felicity wonder. Was there something going on with the Bratva? Perhaps Mr. Knyazev had asked Oliver to do something while he was here. But if that was the case, wouldn’t have Oliver have gone and done it, rather than playing tourist with her and Digg? 

Or maybe he was regretting the whole ‘sharing a room with her’ thing. 

She knew why Oliver had suggested it. It was so obvious: he was worried about her safety. Particularly after what happened with those guys in the lobby. It wasn’t like it was the first time a couple of guys had hit on her, but with the language barrier and her worries about saying the wrong thing, Felicity hadn’t been at the top of her game. Not that she would have let her safety be truly threatened--she was just starting to feel worried and looking for a way out when Oliver had shown up. 

And he had dealt with those men quickly and efficiently and ruthlessly. Not as ruthlessly as he used to be, of course, but . . . but there had been something about him that had made her stomach tighten, even as the rest of her tingled. She knew Oliver was strong and powerful, but seeing it in the flesh always took her aback. And the fact that he was doing it to defend her . . . well, she was a feminist, yes, and she appreciated that he had waited to allow her to attempt to handle it and had even made the men apologize to her, but he had still lashed out at them more than was needed in order to get rid of them. 

All those objections and thoughts, though, didn’t change the fact that it had been hot. And she would never not think that, even if she really could have handled it herself. 

“So we’ll meet here at six-thirty?” Digg asked as they stepped into the lobby. 

Oliver looked at her, his eyes concerned. “If you want, I can get ready with Digg. Let you have all the time and space you need.” 

“Thank you,” she agreed quickly. Because sharing a bathroom with Oliver was something she wasn’t quite ready for. Not that she thought he was a slob or anything . . . it was just too intimate. 

A small smile quirked his lips, and then he turned to Digg. “I’ll go get my stuff and then come back down.” 

Digg looked amused but nodded. “Okay.” And with that, he headed to the elevators. 

Felicity watched Digg leave then turned to look at Oliver, who seemed to have been watching her. She managed a smile. “Nothing a girl likes more than a hotel bathroom all to herself.” 

He let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m pretty sure Thea has said something like that on more than one occasion. Especially when it’s a hotel bathroom like the ones here.” 

“There’s a steam shower! I’ve always wanted to try one of those,” Felicity said, trying not to blush and let out a stream-of-consciousness innuendo. 

“I . . . I know this isn’t what was planned, us sharing a room,” Oliver said slowly as they walked towards the elevator. “I don’t want it to be awkward. So if you need space, you just have to say the word and I’ll clear out. All I care about--all I want is for you to feel safe--to be safe.” 

The earnestness that was pouring off Oliver made her smile. He could be so sweet at times that it made it a little easier to deal with him when he was a stubborn, moody, domineering asshole. 

Or when he said he loved her as part of a plan to take down an evil supervillain and then never mentioned it again. 

She took a deep breath as they stepped onto the elevators, trying to push that thought to the back of her mind. “I appreciate that, Oliver,” she said quietly, once the doors were closed and they were alone in the car. “But it’ll be fine. We’re friends, after all--and friends share hotel rooms, right? I mean, the only year I did spring break, my friends and I, we all road tripped to Myrtle Beach and we had a bunch of people staying in one room and it was fine. Other than six people and one bathroom, it was fine.” 

His lips twitched a little, and then he smiled for real. “At least the bathroom odds are better this time?” 

It was so rare for Oliver to make jokes, and he had been letting his sense of humor shine all day, that Felicity just had to laugh. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” she quoted. 

“Huh?” he asked, his forehead creasing. 

“From _The Hunger Games_? You remember, the movie with Jennifer Lawrence that I told you to watch--she’s the archer?”

“Oh,” Oliver said, his lips twisting. “That one.” 

Well, _someone_ was feeling smug. She gently nudged him. “Remember, it’s just a movie, Oliver. She doesn’t have your training.”

“Clearly,” Oliver said, making Felicity roll her eyes as she stepped off the elevator. 

“I’m not even going to talk to you about this, because not only would it wreck a really good movie for me, but you don’t need your ego stroked when you know you’re the best,” Felicity bantered as they walked towards the room. 

Oliver didn’t say anything back, just kept smirking. Which she wished he wouldn’t do, because he really was the best archer around, and a smug Oliver was unfortunately very attractive. Not that Oliver period wasn’t attractive. And they were walking towards a room they would be sharing tonight. A room with a king-size bed that they would be sharing tonight.

Giving her head a shake, Felicity waited for Oliver to pull out the keycard and open the door. She stepped inside, heading right to her suitcase and opening it up. “So, six-thirty in the lobby, right?”

“No, I’ll meet you here and we’ll go down together,” Oliver replied, picking up his suitcase. 

“You don’t have to do that--or take everything with you--” Felicity began, only for Oliver to interrupt her.

“It’s fine--really, Felicity,” Oliver said, taking a step towards her. “If I come back here, I can drop my suitcase off.” 

Felicity searched his face, looking for any sign that he had changed his mind or regretted this plan. Because if he didn’t want this--

But there was nothing there. Nothing but friendly concern. Which was all there was between them, really. All there could be. Because they were just friends. Of a type. Friends who worked together to save a city. 

So she pasted on a smile. “Thanks for letting me have the room to myself.” 

“You’re welcome,” Oliver said, giving her a nod. 

“It’s in your best interest, really,” Felicity said, trying to recapture the light tone from just a few minutes ago. “You shouldn’t see how the magic happens. How much it takes to smooth out my rough edges.” 

For a long moment, Oliver flat-out gazed at her. It made a shiver go down her spine, made her regret her words. And then he spoke. “I don’t think there’s much magic involved.” 

And his eyes ran over her, going from the top of her dyed-blonde hair to her pinching shoes. Nothing had ever felt like this. Men had checked her out before, of course. Had looked at her this much. But no man had made her feel the weight of his gaze, communicated so much with just his eyes, as Oliver did right now. 

“I’ll be here at six-thirty,” Oliver said, his voice low. 

Her mouth was too dry--and she didn’t trust herself to not say something incredibly embarrassing and/or pathetic--so she just nodded. Oliver didn’t say anything more, just met her eyes and then turned away, slipping out of the room.

Just when she was ready to accept that Oliver hadn’t meant what he said in the Queen mansion, he found a way to make her start doubting. Start wondering. 

Start hoping.

Blowing out a breath, Felicity took her hair out of its ponytail and ran her hands through it. She had to get ready. And although she had always planned to look nice, to take the time to enjoy getting all dressed up . . . now she was determined to pull out all the stops. 

Not for Oliver, though. For herself.

(Okay, maybe a little bit for Oliver, too.)

XXX

Felicity was just applying another coat of lipstick when a light knock sounded on her door. She carefully capped the tube and slid it into her clutch before moving out of the bathroom, her heart pounding against her ribs. Because this was it. 

Slowly, she wrapped her hand around the doorknob and pulled the door open, holding on to the knob in order to steady herself. It wasn’t the first time she had seen Oliver in a tuxedo; this past year had been full of formal parties which they had attended together, as the Queen Consolidated CEO and the CEO’s executive assistant. But it was the first time she was seeing him in formalwear since he told her he loved her . . . and since this afternoon, when he had run his eyes over her like she was wearing the finest gown imaginable, instead of grubby trousers and a light sweater. 

There were definite butterflies when she looked at Oliver, taking in his broad shoulders, his impressive arms and narrow waist. And although she couldn’t see it from here, she knew his ass would look amazing. 

But more than how he looked, there was how he was looking at her. 

For the rehearsal dinner, she had chosen a one-shoulder lace dress in a vivid aqua. It fit her well, it was flattering, and hopefully it was appropriate, with its hemline that fell to just above her knees. If this was a normal wedding, she would have worn something with a shorter skirt, but she had wanted to be careful about being in a different country, in an environment where she wasn’t sure what would be acceptable. 

But if Oliver’s expression was anything to go by . . . she was fine. More than fine. Because his eyes had gone a little unfocused, and his lips had parted, and the butterflies in her stomach were beating their wings wildly.

And then he shook his head and the moment was over. “Digg’s waiting for us,” he said, putting on a smile that she thought was supposed to be charming and friendly. But honestly . . . it looked a bit forced. Like he was trying to push some stronger emotion down. Something like attraction, because the way Oliver had reacted when he saw her? He looked like he thought she was hot, gorgeous, beautiful. 

Which was an extreme case of wishful thinking, really. 

“We don’t want to be late,” she agreed, stepping out of the room with her clutch in her hand. She drew up short when Oliver’s elbow jutted out into her path. Blinking, she looked at him, realizing he was offering her his arm. Which he didn’t normally do. Not at any of those galas they had attended in the past year. 

She could see the barest sign of a flush on his cheeks, which threw her enough to simply slide her hand into the crook of his elbow. Where it fit perfectly, as if her hand was supposed to rest right there on Oliver’s arm.

“Let’s go,” Oliver said, after clearing his throat. 

They walked in silence, the thick carpet muffling their footsteps, and Felicity reminded herself that tonight was about supporting Oliver and being a good guest. She didn’t want to say anything that would reflect badly on Oliver--and hopefully she could have a little fun. With the life she had fallen into, one of crime-fighting and late nights and secrets, there wasn’t really any time for quote-unquote normal things. Like going to weddings and having lazy Sunday brunches and making shopping dates. Like volunteering at a pet shelter or attending concerts or getting out of town for a long weekend. 

She knew that if she wanted to do any of those things, Oliver wouldn’t begrudge her the time off. But . . . but from the moment she had met Oliver, he had been drawing her into his mission, into this crusade to save Starling City. She might have said at first it was about saving Walter, but she had stayed on once Oliver’s stepfather had been rescued without any discussion of her leaving. Because she liked the feeling she got, helping Oliver and Digg, knowing that she was a valuable member of the team. Even the moments when her faith had been shaken--like during the William Tockman case, or the dark days this spring when it felt like Slade was closing his net around them--there had still been the need, the drive, to keep helping. 

And when she considered saving people’s lives and keeping Oliver and Digg safe, wanting to go to brunch seemed so selfish and silly.

While she was lost in her thoughts, Oliver had steered them to the lobby, where Digg was waiting for them. As they approached, Felicity gave herself a mental pep talk. 

_It’s a wedding. It’s a time for fun. Hopefully you’ll have some food, drink a little, and dance a lot. It’ll be fun._

“Well, you two clean up nicely,” Digg said with a grin, his eyes moving back and forth between Oliver and herself. He leaned down and kissed Felicity’s cheek lightly. “You look beautiful, Felicity.” 

“Thank you, John,” she said, returning his kiss and then looking him over. “Speaking of cleaning up nicely--you look so handsome.” 

“I never feel more like a bodyguard then when I’m in a monkey suit,” Digg said with a smile. 

Felicity shook her head. “Oh, you don’t look like a bodyguard, I swear.” She looked over at Oliver, who had been hanging back a little. “He doesn’t, does he, Oliver?” 

“Not at all,” Oliver said with a tight smile.

That wasn’t the reaction she had expected, but then, perhaps she was just imagining the sudden tension in Oliver. She looked back at Digg, who seemed to be giving Oliver some kind of look that she didn’t understand. 

“Well, good,” Felicity said, putting on a smile as she looked up at Digg. “I hope you’re wearing your dancing shoes, Digg, because you owe me at least two dances.” She paused, then reconsidered. “Make that three, because you look so good.” 

Digg laughed. “When it comes to dances, I think you’ll be as popular as the bride, Felicity.”

“We should get going.” 

They both turned and looked at Oliver, whose voice was firm and cold and hard. Felicity frowned. What was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly acting so . . . Arrow-y? 

“Oliver?”

Instead of answering her, Oliver looked to Digg. “The car’s here?”

“It is,” Digg said, eyeing him. “It’s waiting out front.” 

With a jerk of his head, Oliver turned and headed towards the doors to the street, leaving Felicity and Digg standing there. 

“I guess someone wanted to hear he looked nice in his tux, too,” Digg said, giving Felicity a look. 

Even though it wasn’t a great joke, she managed a smile for Digg. She appreciated him trying to ease the sudden tension, but now she was worried about Oliver. But so was Digg, she could tell. Perhaps once they got to the dinner, Digg could get Oliver alone and figure out where his head was at. Remind him that it was a party, after all. 

Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy herself at all. 

XXX

The moment they stepped into the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner was being held, the noise hit Felicity like a physical impact. After the silent car ride, the volume was overwhelming. But it was also welcome, because it had been so awkward and uncomfortable in the car thanks to Oliver’s brooding, and it was so loud in here that she couldn’t think. She could only feel. 

Thick red wallpaper and dark wood paneling covered the walls of the restaurant, the paneling matching the pitted hardwood floors under her feet. There was a haze of cigarette smoke in the air, making Felicity glad she didn’t have asthma. Round tables were clustered around the sides of the room, most of the seats already occupied although the dinner didn’t officially begin for another hour. In the middle of the restaurant was a clear space, probably for dancing, she thought--especially given the stage at the far end of the room, occupied by a band already loudly playing. 

Felicity wasn’t much for loud parties or clubbing--at least not anymore. She had enjoyed it while she was at MIT, and she had gone out drinking a few times with people from QC when she had first started working there. But even before she had begun working with Oliver, those kind of activities had fallen by the wayside. It just wasn’t her scene. 

But something about this event made her smile a little. Perhaps it was seeing how happy everyone appeared. All the people in this restaurant looked like they were having a good time. They were laughing, smiling, exchanging jokes and kissing each other on the cheek. Even the men standing in the dark corners of the room--men who must be Bratva members--had relaxed postures, blowing out cigarette smoke and talking. 

Everyone was having a good time . . . everyone except Oliver. He was like a marble pillar at her side, his eyebrows narrowed and his thumb rubbing against his forefingers. It was his tell: the only way he expressed how nervous or anxious he felt. 

He stood out like a sore thumb. Not just because of his mood, but because honestly, Oliver always was the center of attention in any room he entered. He had natural charisma, something about him that drew your eye. But she didn’t think he wanted to give the impression he was currently making. 

They were getting close to where Mr. Knyazev was, greeting everyone as they entered the restaurant--in fact he was talking to Digg now, shaking his hand and laughing loudly--and Felicity decided to take a chance. She reached over and lightly wrapped her fingers around Oliver’s twitching digits, seeing him immediately look down at her with a surprised look on his face. 

She went up on her tiptoes--because even with five inch heels, Oliver towered over her--and said, as quietly as she could, “If I have to watch what I say, you should watch how you look.” 

His forehead wrinkled for a moment before it smoothed, his whole face relaxing. “And how do I look?” 

“Like you do before you go out on patrol,” she said, feeling a rush of relief at Oliver’s response. At seeing him less tense, less haunted by his ghosts. “And since this is a party . . .” 

Oliver nodded. “Point taken,” he said, a small smile appearing on his face. “Better?” 

Since it was never a hardship to look at Oliver’s face--and she really wanted to help snap him out of whatever funk he had fallen into at the hotel--she let her eyes roam over his features, really taking him in. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the mole under the corner of his mouth, his thick eyebrows and pale pink lips. 

_Do not stare at his mouth._

Felicity jerked her attention to his eyes, which weren’t any safer than his mouth, but--but they weren’t his lips. “Better,” she said breathlessly, letting herself drop down from her toes. 

“Oliver! мой любимый американский!”

Anatoly Knyazev’s voice was cheerful and welcoming, breaking through the bubble around Oliver and Felicity. As Oliver turned to greet Mr. Knyazev, Felicity took in a deep breath and told herself to let go of Oliver’s hand. But then his fingers twisted around hers, holding her hand now. 

“Anatoly,” Oliver said, allowing the man to kiss him on each cheek. “поздравляю, друг мой.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” Mr. Knyazev said, smiling widely. “It is good to have you here. You and your счастье.” 

“Schast-ye?” Felicity asked, her tongue attempting to wrap around the unfamiliar word. 

Oliver looked slightly amused and Mr. Knyazev laughed before speaking. “It is your name. счастье means happiness, bliss--”

“Felicity,” she said, smiling a little. It wasn’t the first time someone had made a pun on her name, but it was rare for it to be as good-natured as Mr. Knyazev made it. 

“Exactly. You keep practicing, you will learn Russian. Probably easier than Oliver did here,” Mr. Knyazev bantered. 

“Oh, I doubt that--I don’t seem to have much of a knack for languages,” Felicity said, then she smiled. “But I’m forgetting my manners--congratulations, Mr. Knyazev.” 

With another laugh, Mr. Knyazev kissed her cheeks as well, his beard brushing against her skin. “Please, please, Anatoly, for another one of my favorite Americans.” 

She felt her cheeks go pink as she nodded. “Then congratulations, Anatoly.” 

His eyes went back and forth between herself and Oliver, and for a moment she felt like his facade dropped. The cheerful, happy-go-lucky attitude faded in favor of a serious, measuring expression. But then, just as fast as it appeared, it vanished and Anatoly was smiling again. 

“Let me introduce you to my Galina, Felicity,” Anatoly said, turning to a tall woman with a cloud of dark hair around her face, who was talking to a few other women. “Милая моя, come meet my friends.” 

“Yes, Anatoly,” she said, brushing a kiss over his cheek before turning to smile at Felicity. Galina had the face of a model, all sharp lines and angles. It was like she was a marble sculpture: perfect and precise. But when she smiled, her face came to life and became less intimidating.

“Oliver, Felicity, this is my queen, Galina. Galina, here are two of my favorite Americans, Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak.” 

Oliver leaned forward, his lips barely touching each of Galina’s cheeks as he spoke. “Я не мог бы желать более для моего старого друга Анатолия, чем женщины, который улыбается на него, как вы.”

Whatever Oliver’s words were--and she was not going to think about how sexy his voice was when he was speaking Russian--they must have been complimentary from the way Galina’s smile brightened and she looked at Anatoly. “Thank you, Mr. Queen,” she said, her English precise and without much of an accent. Then she looked at Felicity. 

“Congratulations and it’s so nice to meet you. Your name is beautiful,” Felicity said, feeling certain she would enjoy tonight much more with the prospect of talking to Galina.

“Thank you! So is yours. Come, you should talk with us,” Galina said, taking Felicity’s hand. 

She glanced at Oliver, who was looking at her with a small smile on his face, while Digg just nodded at her from his place at Oliver’s side. Oliver looked almost like he was proud of her, and while she didn’t understand what had prompted that reaction, it was enough to make her smile at him before Galina pulled her away. 

XXX

Vodka had never been something she drank much. An unfortunate night with too many screwdrivers back at MIT had made her distrust the clear liquor, but she knew that in Russia, she would have to hold her nose and swallow it down. Metaphorically speaking--it would be way too rude to actually pinch her nose shut as she did shots of vodka. 

Happily, though, she discovered that good vodka was a lot more pleasant to drink. Especially when it was part of some fruity, sweet concoction. And when there was laughter and chatter, thanks to the women with whom she was drinking. 

Galina had introduced her to a group of women, all of them wives or girlfriends of various Bratva members, Felicity guessed. But to her surprise, none of the women were what you would call a gangster’s moll. Ivanka was the marketing director of a non-profit, Yelena was a pediatric nurse, and Nadezhda taught at a junior college. Along with Galina, who planned to keep her job at an accounting firm after she married, Felicity felt like she fit in. And it was a nice feeling. 

“I do not understand why you keep working, Galina,” Yelena said, sipping her own cocktail. “Anatoly, he will take care of you.” 

“I know,” Galina replied, “but I like my job. And if I was home all the time, ooh, Anatoly would make me crazy. He would--” She paused and looked at Felicity. “Send me to the ceiling?” 

Felicity smiled. “Drive you up the wall.” 

“Yes, that!” Galina said, laughing. “When I have babies, then I will stay home. Until then, I work.” 

“Anatoly would be a good father,” Yelena said, grabbing some nuts from a passing waiter’s tray. “He is kind.” 

The smile on Galina’s face shifted, going from bright and teasing to something warmer and softer. “Yes,” she said simply, and Felicity felt a bubble of pleasure at seeing her new friend so happy. 

Nadezhda sucked noisily on her straw, getting the last of her drink. “No babies now--you want time for you and your man. For the sex.” 

Everyone, including Nadezhda and especially Felicity, burst into laughter. Given that Nadezhda’s boyfriend had a sexy Adrien Brody look, Felicity could understand why Nadezhda was in no hurry to have children. 

“It changes when you get married,” Ivanka said wisely. “Still good, but different.”

“Bah,” Nadezhda said. “I like the chase.” She picked up a fresh drink and turned to Felicity. “You, did your капитан catch you, or you catch him?” 

Blinking, Felicity looked at the other women. “What?” 

“Nadezhda means Oliver,” Galina said softly in Felicity’s ear. “His rank is captain.” 

It was second nature for Felicity to open her mouth and deny that there was anything between her and Oliver. She had been doing it for over a year, ever since Oliver had peremptorily made her his assistant and had exposed her to all kinds of gossip. Because Oliver Queen wasn’t the kind of man to have female friends. So of course, they had to be involved. There was no other explanation. 

But it wasn’t the right explanation, because there was nothing between her and Oliver. Not like that. 

_I love you._

Felicity pressed her lips together. It seemed like whenever she least expected it, she would flash back to the Queen mansion, her memory perfectly capturing the sound of Oliver’s voice, the look on his face, the little bob of his head as he told her the three little words that always threw her into confusion. 

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, fidgeting a little with her glass. Because she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. If everyone thought they were together--although Felicity couldn’t understand what they saw to give them that impression--then maybe it was better to not challenge their beliefs? 

“All the mamas made plans when we knew the American капитан was coming to Anatoly’s wedding,” Ivanka commented. “For their daughters, their nieces, their cousins. But then you were here, and everyone stopped.” 

“Really?” Felicity said, looking at the other women. Each of them gave signs of agreeing with Ivanka: nods and eyerolls and shoulder shrugs. 

Galina went one step further. “Oh, да,” she answered. She leaned in, placing Felicity in the center of their circle and partially blocking her from view. Then she lowered her voice. “You see? He looks at you when you don’t know, and he looks away when you look at him.” 

Oh, that was just ridiculous, Felicity thought. There was no way Oliver did that--

And then she peeked around Galina and saw that Oliver was looking over at them. No--he was looking at _her_. And he wasn’t just looking. He was . . . _gazing_. 

His eyes were all soft and so blue--even from this distance, she could feel the warmth and interest and . . . something. Something that made her toes curl in her shoes. 

“Keep watching,” Galina said, shifting away from her. And just like that, as soon as Oliver knew that Felicity could see his face, Oliver looked away. 

Yelena let out a soft sigh. “That is how a man should look at woman.”

If it wasn’t for Oliver’s warning--if it wasn’t for how nice all these women were--if she hadn’t seen what they had been talking about with her own eyes--Felicity would be babbling already. Saying that there was nothing between them, that they had to be wrong, that Oliver just wanted to make sure she was okay in the middle of a party with people who didn’t all speak English. 

But Felicity couldn’t find the words. It was one of the few times in her life that she was completely speechless. Almost dumbstruck. 

Because . . . because Oliver had been looking at her like he was completely in love with her. 

End, Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> мой любимый американский: My favorite American  
> поздравляю, друг мой: Congratulations, my friend  
> Милая моя: My darling  
> Я не мог бы желать более для моего старого друга Анатолия, чем женщины, который улыбается на него, как вы.: I could not have wished for more for my old friend Anatoly than a woman who smiles at him like you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m off to Heroes & Villains Fanfest this weekend, so I might be a bit slow to respond to comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter, including seeing Oliver’s POV on the rehearsal dinner--and guess what? Something y’all have been waiting for will finally happen . . . 
> 
> There's a moment in this chapter that is somewhat inspired by fanmommer's fantastic season 2.5 story, Step By Step (We All Fall Down). If you haven't read it, you have missed out!

_So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision_  
 _Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones_  
 _ **Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding**_  
As we lay them on the granite countertop

XXX

He is too well-trained now to let boredom affect him. For the waiting to open his mind to distractions. Yet as he sits in the dark, hidden in the hotel room of the Bratva’s enemies, Oliver does think. 

Being at a wedding makes him think. Makes him remember. 

All the good times with Tommy, yes. But also . . . the pressure. The expectations. Knowing that one day, he would be watching as Laurel walked down the aisle towards him. 

Before he left, Oliver wasn’t ready. He didn’t want that kind of commitment. It’s different now. He craves something. He wants to feel like he’s not alone. That there’s someone who has his back, no matter what. 

He had something close to that with Shado.

Just her name is enough to nearly swamp him with guilt and grief. For the rest of his life, he will carry it with him. He’s pretty sure that when he made his choice to save Sara over Shado, an important piece of his soul died along with Shado.

Oliver knows that his relationship with Shado existed within the context of the island. He doesn’t think they would have lasted if they had both been rescued. And more than that, he didn’t deserve Shado’s love, not after what happened. He didn’t deserve any woman’s love. But that doesn’t make their relationship any less important to him. Shado was just as important as Yao Fei or Slade Wilson. 

Closing his eyes, he pushes aside the thought of Slade, not wanting to open that Pandora’s box. Once he’s under his control, he opens his eyes and resumes his state of alert watchfulness, waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. 

When they do, it’s announced by the door of the suite banging against the wall. He doesn’t startle in surprise, but he does feel a stab of emotion as he watches and listens. 

In the dark, he can’t really make out many physical features of the couple. He’s tall, she’s curvy. But what draws his attention is how they cannot keep their hands off each other. How they’re muttering to each other, words of love and desire. 

And Oliver’s heart drops to his stomach. 

This was a strategic marriage, joining the major Georgian crime clans together. It’s very medieval, a wedding ending a war, but in this part of the world, that technique is still appreciated and used. 

But he didn’t know that the two pawns actually loved each other. That this wasn’t just a political marriage. 

It was a real marriage. 

The realization makes Oliver draw back. Because what he’s supposed to do--what he’s been ordered to do--it was one thing when they were just names without faces. Now that he can see them together . . . now that he knows they’re in love? 

He’s going to break a man’s heart. Like Oliver’s has been broken before. With longing for a home and future with Laurel, with choosing Sara over Shado, with losing Sara again. 

Because he’s here to kill this man’s wife and make it look like the groom did it. And Oliver knows that would break any man. 

XXX

Oliver had attended so many rehearsal dinners over the years, they had all blurred together in his memories. Of course, a lot of his pre-island events were blurry thanks to all the alcohol he had imbibed.

Tonight, though, he had been turning down as many of the vodka shots as he could before he felt like he had to drink. So after two hours, he had only taken three shots and was now nursing a vodka tonic. He wasn’t drunk by a long shot, but he definitely felt slightly more relaxed than normal.

Or maybe that was from getting to watch Felicity all night. 

Over the last few weeks, building upon the scattered chances he had gotten in the past two years, he had become really good at watching her without her noticing his attention. All those moments of observation, short as they were, had been put to good use. Now he was aware of how her body moved. When she was going to turn her head, when her eyes flicked around a room, what her little gestures meant. And ever since the mansion . . . he couldn’t stop looking at her. 

The light in the restaurant was dim, between the soft glow from the old-fashioned lamps and the haze of cigarette smoke. But Felicity was like a miniature sun in her corner of the room. Her hair in its messy-looking bun still shone in the low light. Her bright dress hugged her figure and drew the eye, showcasing how her skin slightly shimmered. 

She was talking, her hands moving, and the women gathered around her burst into laughter. Oliver felt his lips turn up at the sight. He had spoken the truth when he told Galina that all he could wish for his friend was a woman who smiled at him like Galina did. Her smile reminded him of Felicity a little, how she sought to put people at ease. So it made him glad that Galina had taken Felicity under her wing, giving Felicity a chance to shine. 

Not that it took much. Felicity just seemed to spread joy wherever she went. It had made his stomach churn, having to warn her to be careful about her words. Because he didn’t want Felicity to be nervous or self-conscious about how much she talked. He liked how her words tumbled out of her mouth, how her brain had no filter.

The last thing he had wanted was for Felicity to think he didn’t like that about her. But he hadn’t known what to expect here in Moscow, and he wanted Felicity to be safe. To be prepared for anything. 

He should have known it wouldn’t be necessary. Because Felicity would charm whomever she encountered.

In the weeks since they had left Lian Yu, Oliver had tried to figure out when he fell in love with Felicity. What moment had been the one, the one that made everything different. And the more he thought about it, the harder it was to find. Was it when she told him she believed in him? When she told him to get Thea and stop Slade? He knew things had changed after their first visit to Russia, but then, that would discount how he felt when she had stood before him on Lian Yu, demanding that he acknowledge the sacrifices she and Digg had made to find him. 

Or maybe it had started the moment he stepped into her cubicle at Queen Consolidated and cleared his throat, watching as she turned in her chair, her eyes large behind her glasses and a red pen between her pink lips.

Because in that moment, he realized that this woman was something different. Different from anyone he had ever met. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Digg move to stand beside him. Although Digg was an invited guest, he had fallen into his bodyguard routine when they reached the restaurant, hanging back and keeping quiet. For the most part--Digg had a glass in his hand, one that was half-full of clear liquid, so at least he was enjoying himself a little. 

“You do realize you’ve spent the whole night staring at Felicity, right?” 

Digg’s voice was amused, even nonchalant. There was no hint of warning in it, which surprised Oliver a little. He knew Digg and Felicity were close--that Digg was protective of Felicity, not unlike how Oliver was towards Thea. Which meant Digg would warn off any guy that didn’t have Felicity’s best interests at heart, like a brother would. 

And he hadn’t done that to Oliver. Not yet, at least. Yes, there had been plenty of times Digg had told him to take care, to not hurt Felicity . . . but John had never told him to steer clear of Felicity, to leave her alone, to not try to tell her how he really felt. No, Digg kept encouraging Oliver to speak. Which was encouraging. 

“I just want to keep an eye on her,” Oliver said, looking over at Digg. “Since she doesn’t know Russian.”

“And that’s why you’re sharing a room with her. To teach her Russian.” 

The amusement had faded and Digg sounded very serious. Turning so that he still had Felicity in his line of sight as he faced Digg, Oliver lowered his voice. “Digg . . .” 

He held up his hand, cutting Oliver off. “Your mouth is saying one thing and your face is saying something else, Oliver. It’s got to be confusing for Felicity. And since I’m pretty sure you two haven’t talked about what happened--”

“That’s none of your business,” Oliver snapped, then took a step back. The words had come out so quickly, so instinctively, that he knew he meant them. But that wasn’t the way to ask Digg to stay out of this. 

Fisting his hand and then relaxing it, Oliver met Digg’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“You’re not the only one that cares about Felicity, Oliver,” Digg said. 

“I know that, Digg,” Oliver replied immediately. Because he did know that. And when it came to Felicity’s safety, the only person he trusted nearly as much as himself was Diggle. 

“So that means you need to at least hear me out when I say I’m worried. And not just for her sake,” Digg cautioned. “You’re my friend, too.” 

Oliver frowned. Was Diggle worried about Felicity hurting him? That seemed impossible. Because . . . because it was Felicity. 

“Look, this isn’t the time or place,” Digg said, glancing around the restaurant. “But at some point, we’re going to have a talk about why you’re waiting when you know what you want.” He paused, and his brown eyes bored into Oliver’s. “When you know who you want.”

There was a warning there. But it wasn’t about not pursuing Felicity, he thought. No, this was a different kind of warning, something he wasn’t expecting, something he wasn’t quite grasping. But definitely something he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about--at least not now. Because like Digg said, it wasn’t the time or place to be talking about his all-too-obvious feelings for Felicity. So Oliver nodded. “I understand.” 

“Okay, then,” Digg said, straightening up. “I’m gonna mingle. And you should, too.” 

“I think bodyguard suits you better than mother hen,” Oliver joked, smiling as Digg gave him a look. 

“Very funny,” his former bodyguard replied before moving away, pausing to lean down and kiss Felicity’s cheek before becoming part of the crowd. 

Swirling the contents of his glass, Oliver took a sip and resigned himself to small talk. Although he could still work a room like before the island, now he found it more exhausting, more daunting, than it used to be. 

Most of the people here were only acquaintances: names he had once heard, faces he had seen a few times. In the four years since he had been part of the day-to-day operations of the Bratva, men had risen and fallen. And although they were all loyal to Anatoly, and thus would not cross any of his guests, Oliver knew his standing was diminished in many eyes--partly because he was no longer working here in Moscow, but also because of the reports on his rough treatment of the Starling City Bratva cell. 

But this was a party, not a business meeting. And thanks to the free-flowing drinks and the happy occasion, Oliver didn’t encounter anyone who was rude to his face. Being an American and a captain, at least, still gave him a bit of a mystique. 

After nearly an hour of talking--about the current state of the Bratva, about life in America, and even a long discussion about ice hockey that he enjoyed more than he expected--he wanted to be alone. And since his glass was nearly empty, Oliver started making his way towards the bar. 

By now, the party was starting to move towards its next phase. Most of the wedding party had already left, leaving the guests free to dance until dawn. Oliver knew that his friends and himself should probably head back to their hotel, so this would be his last drink--and he doubted he would even finish it. As he crossed the floor, he glanced towards Felicity, just making sure she was safe. She met his gaze and gave him a small smile, her one eye screwing up. 

It made him grin: with all that she could do, Felicity couldn’t wink. She tried, but it always came off more as her eyes blinking out of sync than anything else. So of course, he had to give her a quick wink back, which made him remember doing that over the roof of the car. When he had threatened Anatoly’s contact into giving them the armored car they needed to rescue Digg and Lyla.

He huffed out a breath, giving his head a shake, as he reached the bar and waited to attract the attention of one of the bartenders. If he ever tried to flirt with Felicity like normal people did, she would probably have no idea he was flirting with her. Because their lives were so far from normal. 

Although . . . had that first wink been flirting? That thought made Oliver stiffen. Had he been flirting with Felicity without even realizing it? Just like how he had been falling in love with her without realizing it? And showing he loved her without realizing it?

“Did you see the woman who came with the American captain?”

The Russian words were low, muttered in a raspy voice that spoke of a two-pack-a-day smoker. 

“да,” was the response of whoever the first man was talking to. 

Without moving his body, Oliver swept his eyes around, his head tilting ever-so-slightly in the direction of the voices. 

“She has an ass I would bounce копецкс off,” the first man said, the leer obvious. 

“If you would waste time on her ass when there are better spots to savor, you’re doing it wrong, Misha,” the second man joked. 

“Imagine taking her from behind, though, Grigori. That is no waste of time.”

Oliver felt his nails dig into his palm. The desire to find out exactly who these men were, and make them forget they had ever seen Felicity, was so extreme and overwhelming, he needed the pain to keep him focused. Because it was just talk. Because Felicity would have his head if he went around punching any man who noticed her. Because if he started with these two, he would probably have to knock out most of the men in the restaurant--for who could have failed to be notice Felicity and not feel a glimmer of attraction? 

“Did you hear what he did to Bulgarov’s sons, when they asked her out for a drink?” a new voice inquired, sounding like he was anxious. “Nicolasha thought the captain was going to tear them to pieces with his own hands.” 

There was a pause, then a scoff and a disdainful laugh. “He can do nothing. Nothing except beat on шестёркас. He’s barely clinging to his position. If he hadn’t saved the пахан’s life once upon a time, he would have already been stripped of his rank. And he certainly wouldn’t be here tonight.” 

Whoever the first man was, Oliver was really starting to hate him. Because it was true. While shows of force were never disapproved of within the Bratva, he didn’t have enough clout at the moment to do whatever he wanted. And if he went after any man who spoke badly of Felicity, they would be quick to brand him as whipped. An emasculated captain didn’t stay a captain for long. 

Maybe this task for Anatoly, whatever it was, could shore up his standing, restore a little of his power. But Oliver was unsure about that. If only he hadn’t acted so rashly with Alexei, when he was trying to gain information on Slade. The give-and-take of favors and patronage was what kept the Bratva running. Alexei had warned him that Oliver would pay the price for ignoring the system. But at the time, with all of his fears for his family and for his city, Oliver hadn’t cared. So he had strong-armed Alexei and now he was paying the price. 

Mentally, Oliver cursed Slade Wilson again, for continuing to interfere with his life, even when his former friend was locked up in a prison underneath the surface of Lian Yu. If it wasn’t for Slade, his hands wouldn’t be tied right now. He wouldn’t be dealing with two wrong choices: teaching those men a lesson and further weakening his standing, or ignoring them and letting their words rankle in his mind and his soul. 

Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Oliver ordered another drink and walked away. He tried to remind himself that it was just two drunk men talking, that Felicity wouldn’t want him to get into another fight, that walking away didn’t make him a coward. 

But he didn’t believe it.

XXX

“Oliver!” 

A soft, small hand touched his shoulder, making him turn around to see Felicity, smiling up at him. “Hi,” she said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. 

The light in her eyes wasn’t from him, he knew. It was from the alcohol, he told himself, taking in the empty glass in her hand. 

Although her eyes usually shone like that when she was happy. So at least Felicity had enjoyed herself tonight. Probably because she had steered clear of him. 

“Having a good time?” he asked, because right now, he was feeling particularly masochistic. What was it that Digg said--he liked torturing himself? Right now, the truth of those words were oh-so-evident. Because he couldn’t look away from Felicity, who was giving him a certainly-tipsy smile.

Before Felicity could answer, Digg appeared beside them. Felicity beamed at Diggle and started asking him how he had enjoyed the party.

Watching Felicity--how her lips moved, the way her eyes sparkled, as she talked with Digg--Oliver found himself getting lost in her. Even with Diggle standing right there, his thoughts drifted to the place in his mind where his desires lived.

What if he kissed her? Right here, right now? If he cupped her face in his hands, holding her carefully and delicately, as he touched his lips to hers. Slowly, softly, learning every inch of her mouth, discovering what she liked. How she tasted. 

He had wanted to kiss her in the mansion. After he had said “I love you,” he had been ready to lean down and make sure that Slade knew how he felt. And also . . . in case he failed, in case he didn’t defeat Slade and he never had the chance to kiss Felicity, to kiss this woman who suddenly was the center of his world as everything fell apart around him.

But he hadn’t. Her face had been so shocked by his confession, there had been so little time, and . . . and he had chickened out. Felicity made him second-guess himself like no other woman ever had. Because any mistake he made with her seemed to have so much more weight. She expected so much of him. She believed in him, supported him and made him a better man. He couldn’t risk breaking the trust she had in him. 

Swallowing, Oliver looked down and realized his glass was empty. In the fifteen minutes since he had walked away from the men talking about Felicity, he had drained the double vodka he had ordered. On top of his earlier drinks, he was starting to feel the effects. 

While he had been daydreaming, Felicity had kept talking to Digg. Oliver cleared his throat and repeated his question. 

Felicity gave him another wide, bright, easy smile. “Were you not listening?” she asked him, scrunching up her nose and then continuing on. “Everyone has been _so_ nice. Galina and her friends were really friendly and they’re all so interesting. _And_ I got asked to dance! But I turned everyone down, because I thought I shouldn’t dance with anyone before I danced with you.” 

Oliver couldn’t help a small, rueful smile at the thoughts her words sparked in him. Because being proud of her wasn’t new to him. There had been so many times when she had dazzled him with her brains, with her ability to figure out any problem. Her response to the requests to dance was perfect. 

Although . . . how many men had asked her to dance? How had he missed that?

“Good answer,” he said, trying to push aside those thoughts. The jealousy and the envy. Because other men could dance with Felicity--other men could have what he wanted.

Digg cleared his throat. “I’m going to go check on the car. Have it waiting for us when we’re ready to go.” 

Nodding, Oliver watched Digg stride through the crowd before looking back to Felicity. “I hope you don’t mind. Not getting to dance, I mean.” 

“I don’t mind,” she said as she gave him a long look, like the one he had given her earlier. But being on the receiving end of this probing, intimate look from Felicity, her eyes flicking down his body and up so deliberately, in a way she had never looked at him before . . . it made his blood burn in his veins. But not as much as her lowered voice and through-her-eyelashes gaze when she spoke again. “Although there’s still a little time left . . . would you like to dance with me, Oliver?” 

Like him, she must be feeling the alcohol. That was the only explanation. For why she was making it so obvious that she was interested in him. She was direct and focused; no babbling or nervous tics like the other times she had expressed some kind of attraction to him. Or when they were standing on Lian Yu and she had asked him to clarify what he had meant in the mansion. Because this time, it wasn’t a slip of the tongue or an accident. No, Felicity wanted him to know that right now, at this moment, she wanted him. 

Maybe as much as he wanted her. 

But he couldn’t have her. He couldn’t. Not with everything he had done. Not with what they had built together with Digg. Not with how good and bright she was. Not with so much left unsaid between them.

The jealousy and the envy broke loose of his grip and rushed over him like a tidal wave. Any man in this room could dance with Felicity, could hold her close, could feel the warmth of her body. Any man but him. And Oliver would have to watch that, because he needed to keep Felicity safe. He would watch, even as he wanted to be the man holding Felicity.

He hated dancing. He had been a disaster in the classes his mother had made him attend as a boy. And even now, he avoided doing it. Because the grace and control he had while fighting or using parkour didn’t translate to moving in time to the music while holding a beautiful woman in his arms. 

But if it was Felicity in his arms, he would do it. Because he didn’t think it would matter if he stepped on her feet or they got out of sync with the music. Hell, he wouldn’t notice anything but her. 

Felicity’s eyes had stayed locked on his, not letting him look away. And he almost said yes. He almost stepped forward to dance with her, to make her forget Barry and any other man she had ever danced with. But then a loud cheer from behind them made her gaze falter and Oliver sucked in a breath. Feeling equal parts disappointment and relief at not having her looking at him like that anymore. 

“Actually, I was just thinking that we should head back to the hotel,” he said, his voice a bit choked. 

“It’s getting late,” Felicity replied softly. Now her eyes were firmly fixed on his chin, her hands coming forward to clasp together, and Oliver felt like kicking himself. She thought he was rejecting her. He wasn’t, but he had to turn her down. As much as he wanted to dance with her, he knew he couldn’t.

Letting his hand hover an inch away from her back, Oliver escorted Felicity towards the exit. One of the women she had been talking to all evening stopped her, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Felicity shook her head, a muted smile on her face. Then she shrugged her shoulders. 

The woman--Nadia?--frowned and shot him a scathing look. She turned and started walking away, but the words she was mumbling were just loud enough for him to hear. About stupid men who sent mixed messages. 

Oliver sighed, unable to disagree with the woman’s assessment. He was giving Felicity mixed messages. And he was very, very stupid. 

“Never mind Nadezhda,” Felicity said quietly, stumbling only a little over the woman’s name. “She--she got the wrong idea. We should go meet Digg.” Even with her very high heels, and with God only knew how many drinks in her, she was steady enough to start moving fast towards the street. 

His hand was moving before he even realized it, reaching towards her elbow to draw her back, to pull her in for a kiss, to tell her that he had meant it when he said he loved her, before he stopped himself. Because . . . what could he say? Other than the truth, and that would only hurt her. There was no way he could be with her, even though he wanted to. It would be better to just let his words sink into their memories and stay there. Unspoken, unaddressed. Eventually, Felicity would realize he was hopeless and move on--

Just the thought made his heart skip a beat. Made his whole body feel cold and alone. But he had to do this. Had to let her go, to be with someone better than him.

It was the right thing to do. 

XXX

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Felicity kept fidgeting, playing with her dress and rubbing her hands over her arms. When he asked if she was cold, ready to offer her his suit jacket, she shook her head and bit her lip before turning to look out the window. 

She seemed nervous. It took Oliver until they were pulling up in front of the hotel to realize why: sharing a room. 

Tonight, they would be sharing a room--a room with only one king-sized bed. After what had happened earlier--Felicity’s approving appraisal of him and his clear, although secretly reluctant, rejection of her, things were already awkward. Having to continue being in close contact with each other . . . it was going to be skin-crawlingly uncomfortable.

Oliver was ready to draw Diggle aside and take him up on his offer to share the room with them, when Digg’s phone rang. From the smile on Digg’s face, Oliver knew it was Lyla calling, and he didn’t want to interrupt his friend’s phone call. He nodded to Digg and gestured to Felicity. Diggle responded with his own nod, a flash of concern appearing on his face before he turned away and continued talking with Lyla. 

Taking a deep breath, he followed Felicity into the hotel and towards the elevators. Trying not to notice how beautiful she looked, even at the end of the night with her bun more messy-messy than planned-messy, some of her makeup worn away and her pace slowed from tiredness. 

They were alone in the elevator, rising towards the tenth floor, and Oliver fisted his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You--” His voice seemed unnaturally loud, so he stopped and tried again. “You can get washed up first. Take as much time as you like.” 

“Thank you,” she said, not really looking at him. 

“There looked like there were plenty of blankets. I can make up a bed on the floor.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Felicity replied, looking up at him. “It’s a big bed. I don’t like you having to sleep on the floor, when--” She stopped, pressing her lips together. 

He looked at her curiously. “When . . .?” he prodded her, wanting to know what she was going to say. 

After a moment of inner debate that was visible on her face, Felicity let out a small sigh. “When you spent so many years not sleeping in a bed. It just--it’ll be fine.” 

Over the course of this evening, his emotions had felt stronger and more powerful than ever before. It was taking all his control to not let go. To not get swept away and really show what he was feeling. So Felicity’s simple statement, expressing all the care and concern she had for him, exposing all the generosity and kindness in her soul . . . he felt like he was going to break.

But he couldn’t. He needed to keep himself in check, because . . . because tonight wasn’t the time to change things. Not before they actually talked about what had happened in the mansion, a talk he still didn’t feel prepared to have with her. So he just needed to keep everything inside and not fuck up his relationship with Felicity just because she made him feel all kinds of emotions, in ways he had never experienced before, with a strength and power that was unrivaled by anything else. 

And he didn’t want to reject her again.

“Okay,” he said quietly. 

Felicity nodded, looking up at the indicator showing what floor they were on. They were nearly there. 

Once she fell asleep, he could move to the floor. And he was bound to wake up before her, so she would be none the wiser about how he hadn’t really shared the bed with her. It would be better this way, for her sake. 

Yet as they walked off the elevator and down the hall, Oliver’s daydreams were teasing the edges of his mind. The dreams when they always shared hotel rooms together. Because they were together. Partners in every aspect of their lives. 

This was the last thing he should be thinking of. But he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Felicity like that, so as long as he didn’t act, as long as he held back . . . what was the harm?

Oliver almost snorted at how stupid that sounded. But he knew he didn’t have any other choice. 

The moment they stepped into the room, Felicity immediately began gathering her things before making a beeline for the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind her, Oliver started peeling off his clothes. He was done with wearing this suit, he needed to breathe--

Dressed in the sweatpants from his suitcase, he debated whether to wear a shirt. He didn’t want to make Felicity uncomfortable, but the only option was the undershirt he would need for tomorrow, under his dress shirt. He hadn’t thought he would need an extra shirt, and he had gotten in the habit of going shirtless when sleeping just to save on laundry costs. 

Grimacing, he reminded himself that there was another reason not to pursue anything with Felicity: a cash-poor former billionaire wasn’t exactly a catch. 

The itch on his skin made him drop to the floor and do a few push-ups, but he knew there weren’t enough push-ups to make this feeling go away. Oliver stood up, running his hands over his head, as he tried to deal with it. As he tried to ignore what he was feeling. This jittery, impatient desire to have it be tomorrow morning, to have tonight be over with, to have the clear light of day showing how all these dreams in the dark of the night were foolish. 

Maybe he should just go to John’s room--

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of an opening door. Turning around, he saw Felicity, her hair down in a wavy mess of curls, her face slightly pink and damp and bare of any makeup. Her glasses were on, she held her tablet in her hands, and she was wearing a pale blue tank top and a pair of loose pajama pants, printed with little pink and blue ice cream cones. 

“All yours,” she said with a little smile. 

And even though he knew she meant the bathroom, Oliver couldn’t help wishing that she meant something else. 

That she was his. 

End, Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> копецкс: kopeks--a Russian penny  
> шестёркас: errand boys  
> пахан: pakhan--the head of the Bratva


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the moment y’all have been waiting for: the bed sharing. Although you might still end up frustrated by the end of this chapter, since there will be no update on Friday. It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday, I’m way behind on Nano, and there’s still a good bit of work that needs to be done on the rest of the fic. So I’m going to take a little extra time to make sure this story is good enough for all of you amazing readers. Thanks, and happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans!

_So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces_  
_And it did our thinking while we lived our lives_  
_It counted up our feelings and divided them up even_  
_**And it called that calculation perfect love** _

XXX

Because Oliver was only a few feet away on the other side of the bathroom door--and she didn’t trust him not to have ninja ears to go with the rest of his ninja body--Felicity kept her pep talk a mental one. 

_This is no big deal, Felicity. It’s just like you said, friends share hotel rooms all the time. He’s tired, you’re tired, you’ll go to sleep on opposite sides of this really big bed and wake up refreshed and rejuvenated for the wedding tomorrow. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re in your little-girl pajamas and wearing glasses and he’s shirtless and beautiful. You are **just** friends._

But no matter how many times she told herself this, it wouldn’t stick. Because they weren’t just friends. Maybe when they first met . . . although most friendships didn’t start with out-and-out lying. Their first meetings were full of lies, lies she ignored because she had a feeling they didn’t really matter. And she was proven right. The lies Oliver had told her to get information--lies that were ridiculous, tissue-paper falsehoods--were a means to an end. They both knew he was lying and they both knew she wouldn’t call him on those lies. It wasn’t exactly a strong basis for friendship.

Although once he revealed the truth to her, Oliver didn’t lie to her anymore. But he also wasn’t a traditional friend. He wasn’t a person she could go to the movies with, or do a Netflix marathon with, or get ice cream for lunch just because they felt like it, or stay up late talking for reasons other than averting crime and deadly destruction. 

There was none of the superficial trappings of friendship. But there was “If you ever need to tell someone about your day, you can tell me.” And “You’re not my employee--you’re my partner.” “You will always be my girl, Felicity.”

They weren’t _just_ ‘just friends’. And it was Oliver himself who made them not be ‘just friends’. Then and now. From their first meeting to the moment in the mansion, he was the one who made the emotional overtures in their relationship. Maybe it happened because of outside circumstances--when she needed reassurance in order to do her share of the job, when she had been physically hurt, when all of Starling City hung in the balance--but he had always come through when she really needed him. 

And she didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to cope with that level of support and encouragement and safety. It was so new and amazing and scary. Because it wasn’t like how it was with John, all warm big-brotherly affection. No, with Oliver . . . it wasn’t warm like that. It was hot. So hot that it could burn her up. 

So maybe that was why she kept hesitating. Not following up on her half-ass attempt, standing on Lian Yu’s coastline, to ask Oliver if he had meant it when he said he loved her. 

As soul-crushing and painful as it would be if he said no, he hadn’t meant it . . . if the answer was yes? Oh, that could be so much worse. Even if her body and heart cried out for his words to be true.

With a small groan, Felicity turned and rearranged the four pillows she had behind her back and then picked up her tablet. She needed to think about something other than Oliver. 

Also, was he taking longer in the bathroom than she had? She had no idea Oliver was so vain, although with how he looked, she could _definitely_ understand how mirrors held more appeal for him than for her.

Fortunately, there was a new post in one of the hacking communities she occasionally visited, from someone who claimed to have breached the Department of Education’s servers. From painful experience, Felicity knew that the hacker hadn’t done it, and she took a small amount of pleasure in debunking the hacker’s “proof.” 

“Hey.” 

Thank God she was so caught up in schooling the noob, she didn’t react like she normally did when Oliver startled her with all that ninja-ness. Instead of jumping in the air, she just glanced up at him--a glance that still let her completely catalog what a ‘going to bed’ Oliver looked like--before she gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile. One that hopefully didn't reveal what she was thinking about his low-slung sweatpants and lack of shirt. “Hey.” 

“Would you mind taking the other side of the bed?” Oliver asked. “Your side gives me better access.” 

Felicity frowned a little, looking around. She had purposefully picked the side that was farthest from the door, thinking that Oliver would want to be between her and the door. “Really?”

He nodded. “The other side is closer to the door, but with the corner, there’s limited visibility and mobility.”

“Oh,” Felicity said. “Okay.” She gathered up her tablet and phone, and their associated chargers, before standing up and moving around the bed. Carefully skirting around Oliver while appearing like she wasn’t, and probably failing, she got settled on the new side of the bed. 

“Thank you,” Oliver said unnecessarily, moving to lie down. He stretched out on his back, his hands resting lightly over his abs. 

“You’re welcome,” Felicity replied, punching the pillows and ready to get back to her discrediting. Because maybe then, if she was focused on something other than Oliver lying beside her, it would be less awkward. There was still plenty of bed between them, but--but they were sharing a bed. It was just . . . awkward. Especially when Oliver snapped off the bedside lamp and the room became dim, the only illumination coming from the bathroom light and the screen of her tablet.

Oliver paused and shifted on the bed to look at her. “Is that enough light for you?” 

“Plenty--I’m fine. And I wouldn’t want to disturb you. I know I should go to sleep, but there are idiots on the Internet who need to know how wrong they are,” Felicity said, trying to sound breezy and unaffected. 

His eyebrows narrowed a little in confusion and then he nodded. “Okay.” 

“You should sleep, though. I mean, you didn’t on the plane and you must be tired, and this bed feels--” 

No. No discussion about how comfortable the bed felt, or the number of pillows, or the softness of the sheets. 

“Good night, Oliver,” she blurted out, lowering her head and staring at her tablet. 

And if she thought it was awkward before, it was much worse after Oliver’s softly muttered “Good night, Felicity.” Because now it was quiet, and dark, and she could hear Oliver’s breathing get slower while trying not to let hers speed up. 

But she was a certified genius. She knew how to focus. She had once spent twenty-eight hours coding her final project, working until she had finished her program, guzzling Mountain Dew and eating an entire large mushroom and olives pizza by herself. A bomb could have gone off outside her dorm room and Felicity wouldn’t have noticed. 

She just had to focus. And somehow, she did--she buried herself so deeply in her tablet that she wouldn’t think about Oliver in bed with her, and it worked. When she finally looked up from her tablet, the trolls beaten into submission by her, she realized how late it was. Her eyes burned behind her glasses and the room was silent except for the little noises any room had. The whir of a fan, the soft hum of the bathroom light. The steady, even breaths from Oliver. 

What?

Turning her head, Felicity saw that Oliver was asleep. 

Her mouth dropped open as she took in this completely unexpected sight. Because really, even though he had to have a worse case of jet lag than she did, she hadn’t thought Oliver would actually sleep. Not in the bed, at least. She was pretty sure he’d play possum until he knew she was asleep and then he would sleep on the floor. Probably right in front of the door for good measure. 

But here he was, asleep. _Really_ asleep. There was no way he was faking. Not with him on his back, his face turned towards her. (Because if he was pretending to be asleep, he would have at least turned his face away from her!) He was too relaxed--there was none of the tension or tautness she normally saw in his body and his face. And as her eyes adjusted to the lower amount of light, she could really see his face. 

_Talk about Sleeping Beauty._

With the stress and worry smoothed away, his face was even more gorgeous. Because now he looked peaceful, content. His eyelashes rested against his cheeks and his lips were oh-so-slightly pursed. His chest rose and fell slowly, lulling Felicity as she matched her breathing with his. 

The exhaustion she had been fighting off and on all day hit her and Felicity felt her eyes droop. She barely had enough time to set aside her tablet and take off her glasses before she was sliding under the covers, curling up on her side. 

And if she was facing Oliver, like he was facing her, she would explain it as something she had done in her sleep-addled state. 

XXX

Felicity wasn’t sure what woke her--whether it was a noise from the hallway or just a strange feeling that managed to penetrate her slumber. Whatever it was, she was awake, her eyes wide open in the dark room. 

It felt early. Like she had only been asleep a few hours. And . . . Oliver’s breathing was different. 

He was awake, too. 

The smart thing to do would be to roll over and go back to sleep. There were still plenty of hours they could sleep, since the wedding was in the late afternoon and she had planned to go sightseeing with Digg in the morning, hopefully with Oliver joining them. And concealer could only do so much to hide the dark circles under a girl’s eyes. 

But . . . how could she fall asleep, knowing that Oliver was awake? What if he had woken up because of a nightmare? Or he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to move for fear of waking her? 

Licking her lips, she spoke quietly, in case she was wrong. “Oliver?”

“I’m here.” 

His response was immediate, in a soft tone that was just above a whisper. For some reason, it put her at ease and made her feel warm all over. 

She turned onto her side, tucking her arm under the pillow as she faced him. But the room was still too dark for her to really see him--especially not with her glasses on the nightstand behind her. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You don’t snore, by the way.” 

“It’s too bad the room is so dark, you can’t see how I’m sticking my tongue out at you,” Felicity fired back, then sighed softly. “Because really, I’m a very mature person.” 

“Mmhmm,” Oliver murmured. “So mature, you’re not even crossing your eyes, too.”

And Felicity couldn’t help smiling, because this was nice. Fun. The kind of teasing banter they used to have, back in the early days when they were still getting to know each other. 

“I thought with your jet lag, you’d stay asleep all night,” she ventured cautiously. Not wanting to wreck this easiness between them. 

“I don’t sleep much,” Oliver said after a moment. A moment of hesitation? Of consideration?

“Was . . . was that something that happened before the island, too? You said you could never sleep on planes before . . .” 

There was another moment, and then she heard a rustle, like Oliver was pushing at the sheets or something. “Kind of,” Oliver said. “In those days, I’d sleep until noon most days, but usually I didn’t go to bed until five or six in the morning.” 

“There used to be no in-between for me,” Felicity volunteered. “I’d stay up all night coding or I went to bed at ten and slept until eight.” 

“Really?” Oliver sounded surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Why not?” she asked, very curious about Oliver’s opinions on her. Because they had never really talked like this--about each other. About what he thought about her or vice versa. Not in a normal, everyday context. In a way that wasn’t about what they did when he wore green leather and she hacked websites to which she had no legal access. Because Felicity had told him he was a hero--but she was pretty sure he thought she had only meant that in the context of his work as the Arrow. Which wasn’t true. She thought Oliver Queen was a hero and the Arrow was just the way he chose to express it. 

“Because . . . you always handle the late nights so well. You don’t seem that sleepy when you leave, and then you were always in the office before me.” 

The admiration was easy to hear and it made Felicity’s face flush. “I guess I just sleep hard?” 

Oliver laughed quietly. “Sleep hard?” 

“Yeah, you know,” Felicity replied, wishing that just once she thought her words through. “It’s like what they say--quality, not quantity. When I get into bed, I can just go right to sleep, and stay asleep, until I have to wake up.” 

“That’s a valuable skill to have,” Oliver said lightly. “Although it doesn’t work in hotel room beds, huh?” 

“Yeah, not really,” Felicity agreed. “I need to be in my own bed.” 

She was thankful for the darkness, because this way, Oliver couldn’t see the way she blushed every time she said the word ‘bed’. Her eyes had adjusted, but the room’s blackout shades were very good at their job, blocking out the light from the bank of windows behind her. The bathroom light was off now--perhaps Oliver had shut it off before she woke up?--so there was almost no ambient light available. Combined with her vision problems, she was practically blind as a bat. 

But it didn’t bother her. Because without any light, she felt like she was more connected to Oliver than ever before. Normally they communicated so much with their eyes and with touch. But now, neither of them could see very well, and with lying in a bed together, touch was a method of communication that was much too loaded. All they had were words. 

And because she was with Oliver, she wasn’t scared at being blind. Because she knew he would do anything to protect her. He had proved that in so many ways, just on this trip alone. Whether it was dealing with those men who were harassing her or making sure he was positioned to protect her better . . . Oliver took care of her in a way she had never experienced before. 

It was romantic and even sexy, sometimes. Like when he swung through the air like a shirtless Tarzan to scoop her off a landmine. But other times, it rankled. Felicity had spent most of her life knowing she had to be strong enough to take care of herself. And when she was just an IT girl, she stood on her own two feet. But she knew she wasn’t strong enough to protect herself against the bad guys they took down, that she was a liability in the field. All of Digg’s training and Sara’s pointers weren’t enough to change that. So having someone like Oliver, who wanted to keep her from getting hurt, to the point that sometimes he went too far to keep her safe . . . She had never needed to depend on someone like she had to depend on Oliver. 

It was one thing to need him when they were in the field. But his confession in the Queen mansion had made her wonder what it would be like to depend on Oliver in other ways. Boyfriend-type ways. And it seemed so fantastical and unbelievable and unthinkable that . . . she still didn’t know why Slade believed Oliver’s confession like he had, why the madman had been so convinced by a few words. At least,not until tonight. When Galina had pointed out how Oliver looked at her.

Tonight, with all those drinks in her stomach and with this new bit of knowledge, it had seemed like the right time to test things a little. _In vino veritas_ used to be the way she got up the courage to confront a situation or a person. Her first date with Cooper had come about after she had drunk three beers and then called to ask him to hang out at Miracle of Science with her. Which wasn’t a method she used anymore--and not just because of what had happened with Cooper. But this whole situation with Oliver was so frustrating and scary and intimidating, and with so much alcohol in her system, it had seemed like a good idea to mention the men who had asked her to dance. 

Oliver hadn’t looked happy that anyone wanted to dance with her. And she didn’t know if it was because he was worried about her safety or if he was jealous. If he wanted to be the one to dance with her. And honestly? She had wanted to dance with him. To be held in his arms for more than the moment it took to hug or to zipline away from danger. Being that close to Oliver . . . it would be more intoxicating than double the number of drinks she had consumed. 

But maybe it would also give her some clarity. Some idea of what to do. Because this limbo . . . it was getting unhealthy. She was starting to wait. Waiting for Oliver to say something, for something to happen that would make him speak, for some mythical perfect time to confess that she--

“What did you think of the rehearsal dinner?”

Oliver’s question pulled her out of her head, something for which she was extremely grateful. She wasn’t sure she was at the level of honesty and safety, in the darkness of the room, to think about her own feelings for Oliver. After all, he had turned her down. 

“I had a good time, but you already knew that,” Felicity reminded him. “What about you? I didn’t really see you talking to anyone.” 

“I was . . . mingling.” 

The amount of annoyed dissatisfaction in his voice made her laugh. Because she could just picture the face he was making. “Uh-huh.” 

“There weren’t a lot of people I knew,” Oliver protested. 

“I didn't know anyone, but I still found plenty of people to talk to,” Felicity pointed out, knowing she sounded ever-so-slightly smug. “And I have a language barrier.”

Oliver snorted softly. “Felicity, your smile could overcome any barrier, language or otherwise.”

It wasn't often that Felicity was struck speechless. But right now, after getting possibly the sweetest compliment ever, offered up in a voice in which she could hear his smile, from the man who was one of her closest friends and an unobtainable fantasy and the potential love of her life?

Felicity thought she was lucky to only be speechless.

The silence stretched out between them, thick and clammy, and Felicity didn't know what to do. But the longer she waited to say something, the more likely Oliver would try to take back his words. _All_ of his words. And . . . she didn't want that. 

As hard as it was, not knowing if he meant it, she didn't want him to deny he had ever said those three little words.

“You said you were going to teach me Russian.”

Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the room, violently breaking through the awkward heaviness that had fallen between them.

She heard him clear his throat. “I did promise you that. What do you want to know?”

For a genius, why was she so dumb sometimes? Why couldn't she ever think through what she was going to say? That was what Oliver had warned her about.

But then . . . she wasn't around some stranger, someone she didn't know whether she could trust.

She was with Oliver.

“How do I say ‘hello’?” she asked quietly.

“If you want to be formal, you say Здравствуйте. But привет is like ‘hi’ or ‘hey’, something you'd say to your friends.”

Oliver answered faster than she thought. Like he was grasping at the language lessons, just like she was, to get past the wonderful compliment he had given her.

“Does счастье really mean Felicity?” She slid one arm under her pillow, trying to at least feel physically comfortable.

“Yes,” he said, the smile once again in his voice. “So if I saw you somewhere, I would say ‘привет, счастье’. And you would say ‘привет, Oliver’.”

It was ridiculous that with the tension starting to ease between them, she was thinking of saying what she wanted to say. But . . . but this conversation was long overdue. And very, very necessary. Because feelings were getting hurt. Because hearts were on the line.

“Because we're friends?” she asked quietly.

Another silence fell, even more loaded than before. But this time, unlike all the other times, she didn't want to dodge or duck the question.

It was time to get this out into the open.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “We're friends.”

“And that's all?” 

The dark was making her brave. The only other time she had come closer to asking him about his words in the Queen Mansion, the sun had been bright all around them.

But they had never spent much time in the sunshine. Their world was dark, lived during nights in dimly-lit basements and deserted alleys.

Perhaps the only way they could admit what they felt for each other was in the dark.

“No.”

Oliver's response was so sudden and unexpected, Felicity thought she might have imagined it. “What?” she gasped.

“‘Friends’ doesn't come close to describing what we are, Felicity. In any language. I--I feel like I know you better than anyone, but . . .”

When his voice trailed off, Felicity felt overwhelmed. Because here was Oliver--Oliver--confirming they weren't just friends. But he also seemed to be saying that they weren't friends at all.

She was overwhelmed and giddy and worried and confused. “What?” she repeated, this time promoting him to continue.

This time, he sounded frustrated. “I don't know your birthday.”

Only her desire to not appear like a slack-jawed yokel kept her from saying “What?” again. Because sure, she had never _told_ him her birthday, but he was her boss! Well, he had been. He used to have access to her personnel file, where her birthday was listed.

“I don't understand--you never looked in my file at QC?” she had to ask.

“No,” he said, sounding a little offended. “I do know what privacy is. Besides, of all people, I understand why it's easier to not talk about certain parts of your past. I figured there was a reason you didn’t want me or Digg to know when your birthday was.”

Oh, God. She knew her face must be crimson red from shame and embarrassment, because he was so right. Just because it was the kind of thing she might do didn't mean that Oliver would do the same. He never seemed to think he was a hero, but Felicity knew better. It was choices like this that told her that was who Oliver was. A hero.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so rude,” Oliver said after a moment. “Given what I've asked you to do, it's natural that you'd think I might do that.”

“That's when you're the Arrow. It's different,” she says weakly.

“Is it?” he asked. But before she could say anything, there was a rustling. “I . . . I don't want us to get side-tracked. What I'm saying is, that is, I think we could, um--”

Was _Oliver Queen_ talking in _sentence fragments_?

Could her life get any stranger?

“We could spend some more time together,” he said in a rush.

. . . what?

What did that mean? ‘Spend more time together?’. Would they be doing this as not-really-friends, friends-friends, or not-just-friends?

Trust her luck: in trying to come up with a label for her relationship with Oliver, she hadn't narrowed it down--she had made it worse.

“If you were interested, that is.”

God, he sounded so hopeful. Like everything was riding on her answer. And normally, she would immediately say yes. Because she liked spending time with Oliver. She always had. Those nights in the Foundry, while he trained and she worked on her computers, eating cold Chinese food and talking about anything and everything . . . they had been the best nights.

But then there were nights like tonight. When he held her at arm's length, when he drew a line and didn't let anyone, let alone her, past it.

What would it be? Was she just signing herself up for more of the hot-and-cold game? Felicity wasn't sure.

“I--” Her voice broke and she coughed. “I think I need to sleep on it.”

“Oh.”

That one word spoke volumes. There was so much in his voice: sadness, surprise, resignation. The last was the worst. The idea that Oliver thought she didn’t want to be his friend . . . 

“Oliver--” she said, but he interrupted her. 

“No, you're right, we should get some more sleep. Good night, Felicity.”

She could hear and feel him roll over, probably putting his back towards her, and she bit her lower lip. She didn't want them to go to sleep like this. With a divide between them, when tomorrow promised to be a long, exhausting day.

“Oliver,” she said, speaking softly as she reached out to touch his shoulder. It wasn't until she made contact with him that she remembered they hadn't touched for hours. And that he was shirtless. The warmth of his body, the surprising softness of his skin over incredibly firm muscles, made her brain feel like it was short-circuiting. She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back all the babble and innuendo that wanted to break free.

“What?” he asked, the sound of the sheets moving muffling the word slightly.

She quickly pulled her hand back. “I'm sorry, I just--this weekend had already been really overwhelming and I need time to think and--”

“Felicity.” To her utter shock, Oliver touched her. And if she thought it felt good to touch him, it didn't compare to being touched by him. His hand brushed over her shoulder, all warmth and reassurance, and she wanted to moan at the sensations. 

“It’s okay,” he said, his fingers lightly brushing back and forth over her shoulder, skin on skin thanks to the thin straps of her tank top. “Of course you can think about it.” 

How could a touch to her shoulder feel so good? Better than most kisses she had received--and even better than one or two of her sexual encounters. Her stomach was swooping and her face was red and once again, she was thankful it was too dark to see anything in here. 

“Thank you. I--I think in the morning, with a nice nearly-full night of sleep, I can let you know.” 

“All right. Whenever you're ready, Felicity,” Oliver said, his voice low and intimate. His fingers still touching her. 

She knew that spontaneous human combustion wasn’t a thing, but--but it had to be possible, if improbable. Because she felt like her body was going to erupt into flames. 

“Um, good night, then, Oliver.” She practically tripped over the words, her head whirling from all the highs and lows in this conversation.

His fingers slowly drew away from her. “Good night, Felicity. Sweet dreams.” 

Her skin felt cold without his touch, but Felicity refused to dwell on that thought. “Good night,” she repeated quickly, moving away from him just a little and curling up on her side. The bed moved under her, indicating that Oliver was moving, too. 

Determinedly, she closed her eyes and found that sleepiness was already starting to fall over her. And just as unconsciousness wrapped its arms around her, she whispered, oh-so-softly, “Sweet dreams, Oliver.” 

XXX

Warm. She was so warm. Not in a sweaty, kick-the-covers-off way. No, this was snuggle-in, keep-your-eyes-closed warmth. The kind you felt on Sunday mornings, when you knew you didn’t have anywhere you had to be and you could stay in bed for another hour if you wanted. 

Felicity let her breath escape her in a soft sigh, feeling an amazing kind of peace. She didn’t want to move but she also wanted to stretch, to savor this relaxed feeling that made her limbs feel as flexible as taffy. 

And then her brain, finally waking up all the way, asked just why she was so warm. 

Opening her eyes, Felicity’s mouth fell open when she saw Oliver’s face, barely inches from hers. The light of day was so bright now, even the blackout curtains weren’t enough to keep the room in full darkness like earlier. So she could see Oliver’s face perfectly, even without her glasses, since he was so close to her. 

He was asleep, she thought--his eyes were closed and that soft expression, the one from last night, was on his face again. But--but this one looked even happier, if that was possible. Because there was this little smile on his face, like he was actually having sweet dreams. 

Being this close to him made her feel dizzy. Because he was just so warm and strong and she never got to see him like this, and all she wanted was to see Oliver like this all the time. 

To wake up to him like this every day. 

She swallowed as her desires, her own dreams, refused to be pushed aside and ignored. No, they demanded that she look at them, to look at him and imagine that this could be hers. That everything she was looking for--everything she had never known to want--was right here in front of her. That she could have this if she took the first step, if she accepted his offer to spend time together, becoming closer and learning more about each other and--

Oh, God, his arm was draped over her waist. 

How she had missed that weight pressing down against her, Felicity didn’t know. Maybe it was because his face was so distracting. Not to mention how his face was making her feel and think. But having him touching her, in such an intimate way . . . this wasn’t how friends slept. 

No wonder she was warm, with Oliver Queen, Personal Furnace, sending all that body heat her way. Or maybe it was just having him touch her, how they had reached out for each other in their sleep, moving closer and--

Calm. She needed to stay calm. She didn’t want to wake Oliver up--he needed sleep, not to have his IT support wake him up with a freakout over how he kept acting like he was totally, madly in love with her while he wouldn’t do anything about it. At least, nothing that could be construed as more than friendship if one so chose.

And then she felt his hand move against her back and Felicity realized that she had no choice in the matter--she _had_ to freak out. 

His fingers, all warm and rough and calloused, made contact with the bare skin of her back, revealed due to the gap between her pajama pants and her hiked-up tank top. It was a light brush at first, but then, as if he had realized what he was touching, the contact increased and became firmer. It didn’t get inappropriate: when he reached the waistband of her pajama pants, his hand moved back up along her spine, sending sparks all over her. 

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, trying to memorize this feeling. Because it felt so good and she just knew it wouldn’t last. Nothing this good could last. 

When she opened her eyes, ready to pull away, it was to see that Oliver had woken up. Not all the way--there were still traces of sleep in his eyes, which were soft and warm and filled with such a breathtaking happiness, Felicity felt her heart pound like she was running a marathon. 

For a long moment, Oliver kept touching her, his eyes locked with hers, and Felicity knew that she could live in this moment forever. That she wanted to never leave this bubble which held the future she wanted. 

But it wasn’t just her decision about staying in this moment. Oliver had a say, too. And when she felt his hand jerk to a sudden stop, she knew he had made his choice.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Oliver and Anatoly in this chapter was inspired by [a reblog that MachaWicket made](http://machawicket.tumblr.com/post/112230386947/aseaofquotes-maggie-hall-the-conspiracy-of-us), a reblog that I’ve held on to until I could use it in a fic. And now I have. :-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter--it was a tricky one to write, and I’m not sure if it’s what I wanted it to be. Thanks for hanging in there with me when I needed some extra time to work on this!

_So we made the hard decision and we each made an incision_   
_Past our muscles and our bones, saw our hearts were little stones_   
_Pulled them out they weren't beating and we weren't even bleeding_   
_**As we lay them on the granite countertop** _

XXX

The realization of what he is about to do makes Oliver freeze. He should have acted as soon as the door to the suite was closed, but instead, he sits in his corner, not even noticing the sounds of lovemaking, as he struggles with what his task really is. 

It's infuriating, this hesitation. He has killed so many people since he came to Russia. Since he left Starling City on the Queen’s Gambit, truthfully. He has killed in cold blood, he has tortured, he has killed in anger, he has used rocks and knives and guns and a bow. And he has never hesitated like this. He has wished for other options, but when it was the only option, the only choice, Oliver has always taken it. 

And it’s not that his target is a woman that he’s hesitating. No, it’s because his target is a woman who loves. And is loved in return. He is going to make this woman’s new husband into a man like Oliver. A husk, without the love of his life. 

Oliver licks his lips, wishing he could keep the image of Laurel from appearing in front of his eyes. It’s been nearly four years now since he saw her: she would have changed, most likely gone from pretty to beautiful. She had been applying to law schools when he left; by now, she had probably graduated. She would be working as a lawyer, dating maybe, starting her life with no thought of him. No thought beyond anger. Because what else was there? He was the asshole who ran off with her sister. And then got her sister killed. 

But he still loves Laurel. Still misses her. Wishes he could remember how it felt when she stroked his hair, that his memory had captured the sweetness of her smile. 

Like he wishes he could remember the exact mischievous curve of Sara’s smile. Or the way she looked at him like he could save her.

The sense of peace that Shado created inside him, or the warmth in her eyes when he finally hit his target for the first time. 

The unceasing support of his mother. The adoration of his little sister. 

Oliver Queen is a man full of regrets and wishes. And they are all centered around the loves he has lost. 

And he’s about to take all that from this man. He doesn’t know him, he has no idea if he really loves his bride. But Oliver thinks he does. And if the positions were reversed . . . he wouldn’t want to live without the love of his life. 

Moving slowly so there isn’t any noise, Oliver checks the gun. Making sure it’s in order one last time. And then he rises slowly, stepping away from the cover of the sofa, and walks to the foot of the bed. 

The lights of Moscow falls over the bed, revealing the couple. They are entwined with each other on the bed, sleeping peacefully. And Oliver has a clear shot at the bride. 

So he lifts his gun.

XXX

Oliver slowly drifted awake, his return to consciousness like a gentle ‘welcome back’ instead of a hard slap across the face. Normally, he woke up fully alert and aware. Whether it was because he had snapped awake from a nightmare or some small noise had disturbed his sleep, his mind was normally clear and ready within a split-second. 

But today . . . it wasn’t like that. There was softness. Peacefulness. A sense that he could linger, which he should question but didn’t. 

It couldn’t last, though. Not when he realized the reason for all these wonderful, unexpected feelings. 

Felicity was only inches from him. 

Her eyes were closed and she was breathing slowly, each breath a puff of warm air that skittered over his face and neck and made him want to squirm. Her arms were pulled up between them, providing a barrier to any attempts at getting closer. Which Oliver was fine with--because being this close to her was dizzying. 

Taking in the curve of her cheek, the way her hair swept back from her temples, the soft pink of her lips . . . he never got to look at her for this long. Or from this close. She was practically in his arms. 

Or . . . literally in his arms. Because his arm was extended and his hand was moving over her back. Her bare back. 

And it was too tempting. Looking wasn’t enough now, when it had satisfied him only a moment before. Not when her soft, warm skin was underneath his fingertips. His hand moved slowly, pressing feather-light along her spine and feeling the knob of each vertebra. 

What if he pulled her closer? Flattened his hand against her back and pulled her in against his chest, woke her up with a kiss and told her he loved her? 

She felt so good--

All his thoughts vanished when Felicity’s eyes popped open. And having her see him, first thing in the morning--to start his day by looking at her and touching her--made feel so relaxed and at-ease that he couldn’t help just smiling at her. Wanting to share how she made him feel. 

He could only blame himself for missing the signs. For not noticing how she went tense under his hand, for not seeing how her eyes went wide, for failing to observe the wrinkle between her brows. But after a moment, he did see all those signs, and his mind finally woke up all the way. And he knew he couldn’t do this. 

“I--I should move,” he stuttered out. 

Felicity nodded quickly, her head jerking up and down. “Friends--friends don’t do this.” 

_“Because we’re friends?”_

_“And that’s all?”_

He probably deserved that. No, he definitely deserved it. After all the mixed messages between them, all the times he had pulled her close physically yet held her at a distance emotionally, it was no wonder that Felicity didn’t know where they stood. No wonder she was starting to act like he did: for every step she moved forward, she would then take a step back. 

But it took more strength than he knew he possessed to lift his arm and roll away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, his shoulders slumped. And even though he was safe now, away from the temptation of Felicity, he knew he wasn’t really safe.

Because when he had told her he loved her, he had handed her his heart. Sometimes it felt like the only thing he was good at was caring about people--yet his care, his friendship, his love, they never seemed to bring happiness to anyone. So when those people asked something of him, he would do everything in his power to make them happy. Even if it shredded his heart to pieces. 

There was no choice, though. He had to move away--and not just because she had asked him to. Because seeing her look at him, with his hand on her back . . . he almost gave in to all his fantasies and pulled her close to him. And that wouldn’t be fair to Felicity. She deserved a man who could tell her what she meant to him, a man who didn’t hesitate to say “I love you.” Because she deserved to hear those words all the time. And even though he _wanted_ to be that man, it didn’t mean he deserved her. Not with what he had done--the things which put so much blood on his hands, including that night four years ago in this very hotel. 

Oliver sucked in a breath, making himself push the memories away. He couldn’t deal with a flashback when he needed to figure out something to say to Felicity. 

But as always, she was ten steps ahead of him. She was already getting out of bed as she spoke, something he could tell from the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting underneath him.

“Right. Time to get up. We need to get ready for the day, get all clean--not that we’re dirty, not from the usual way with two people in a bed . . .” 

It took everything he had--and gripping the edge of the bed so hard he was surprised he didn’t rip chunks out of the mattress--to focus on anything other than the usual way of getting dirty in bed and what it would be like when it involved him and Felicity. 

“So we just have to decide who gets the shower first--I mean, it makes sense for you to go first, since you’re a man and you probably need less time than me, not that I take an extraordinary amount of time in the shower. I’m smaller than you, I have less to wash, after all.” 

He actually had to squeeze his eyes shut, only to immediately wrench them open as the image of Felicity in the shower appeared on the back of his eyelids. 

“I--I thought I could get ready in Digg’s room again,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. He hadn’t thought it until right that minute, but he needed to stop thinking about Felicity in the shower.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Felicity over by her suitcase, crouching down as she rummaged through it. She wasn’t standing in a way that was particularly sexy: she was in a crouch, her knees bent and tucked up against her chest, her back rounded, but it didn’t matter. She was Felicity and she was breathing and she was talking: he was turned on. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder. 

“Uh-huh,” he said, his hands gripping the bed even tighter. Telling his body to calm down, since he was getting close to thirty and too old for this bullshit. “Go ahead.”

She turned away from him, to keep gathering what she needed. “I didn’t ask,” she said softly. “Did you sleep well?” 

Somehow, her attempt to offer the olive branch--to act like nothing had changed--made everything more uncomfortable than her innuendos did. Maybe because she didn’t realize what he was thinking, Oliver thought. But her soft, hesitant question put him more on edge than anything else she had said this morning. Because the last thing she should be doing was worrying about him. 

Oliver licked his lips. “Yeah, I did. Thank you. And I hope you did, too.” 

Her head moved in a nod, and then she stood up, her arms filled with clothes and toiletries. “I’m just gonna go shower now. Digg and I are going sightseeing this morning--we were meeting at ten. You . . . you’re welcome to join us if you want.” 

The invitation was tentative and hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure he would accept--as if she wasn’t sure she wanted him to accept. Yet even though it would probably be wiser to give Felicity some space, he wanted to be with her. And at least with Digg there, they would have a buffer. So he just nodded. “I would like that. Thank you.” 

Without another word or a backwards glance, Felicity went into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. No slamming the door, no yelling at him. Felicity wouldn’t show how angry she was with him when it wasn’t Arrow-related. No, she just buried it down deep, and that made him feel even worse. 

Why couldn’t it be last night? Or this morning--whatever time it was, when it was dark and they were whispering quietly to each other. Actually talking, taking a few tiny steps closer to each other. 

It was so rare for Felicity to share something real about herself. He knew she dyed her hair and her middle name was Megan and she liked red wine, but those superficial little facts had slipped out, in a way that made him wonder how much she had held back in the nearly two years they had known each other. Because it was something he had been trained to do: in order to conceal the important intel, you would let slip the little unimportant details that didn’t matter. Felicity seemed to do that naturally, only telling him something meaningful when she was nervous or upset. Like when she mentioned her father leaving or growing up in Las Vegas with a cocktail waitress mother. 

But he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted her to want to tell him everything. But he couldn’t ask, because it would be the height of hypocrisy to ask. Not when he couldn’t give her the same honesty and openness in return. So he had satisfied himself with those times when Felicity was willing to open up. 

And then last night, he had screwed it all up by saying he didn’t know when her birthday was. 

Pushing himself up from the bed, Oliver opened his suitcase and pulled out the Henley he had been wearing on the jet. Their conversation kept going round and round in his head, acquiring more and more meaning with each repetition. Especially what he had said.

_“Felicity, your smile could overcome any barrier, language or otherwise.”_

_“‘Friends’ doesn't come close to describing what we are, Felicity. In any language. I--I feel like I know you better than anyone, but . . .”_

_“We could spend some more time together.”_

God, he was such an idiot. He had all but asked Felicity to go steady with him. When she still didn’t know he had meant his confession in the mansion, was it any wonder she was pushing him away, that she hadn’t told him if she wanted to spend more time with him? His behavior must look worse than his old Ollie ways. Because back then, no deeper feelings were at play. He had never told a girl he loved her in order to get something, admittedly. Flirting, compliments, buying things, pouring alcohol down her throat--he had done all of that and more to get a girl into bed. But he had never said “I love you” without meaning it. As much as he could back in those days. And not like how he meant it now. 

The sound of the shower cutting off made Oliver realize how long he had been struggling with his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard the shower begin--which was definitely for the best, because he had just barely gotten his body under control. Moving quickly, he zipped his suitcase closed and picked it up, heading for the door of the suite. The last thing he needed to see was Felicity, straight from the shower and wrapped in a towel. 

Swallowing, Oliver ignored that mental image and opened the door, drawing up short when he saw the same large man who had been in Anatoly’s suite the day before.

The man bowed his head. “капитан, the пахан would see you.”

Anatoly wanted to see him? This must be about the ‘task’ he had mentioned--but what was he doing, bringing Bratva business into the middle of his wedding? 

Oliver didn't know. He didn't approve. But neither of those things mattered. All he could do was follow Anatoly's orders. So with a single nod to the lieutenant before he left his suitcase in the room, Oliver did as ordered. 

XXX

A large smile spread across Anatoly's face when Oliver walked into the suite. Dressed in his undershirt and his tuxedo pants, he had a cigar in one hand and a glass tumbler in the other. “Oliver!” he proclaimed, kissing each of his cheeks. “You are finally awake, мой друг!”

“I hope you weren't waiting long for me, Anatoly,” Oliver said, trying to sound pleasant.

“No matter! You are here now, and you will have plenty of time to perform that little task for me, just as soon as the driver is here for you.”

The more jovial Anatoly got, the more suspicious Oliver became. But he couldn't show that, so he just nodded and pasted on his standard Oliver Queen smile. “Of course.”

“First, I need you to have a drink, to toast to my wedding,” the пахан said, gesturing to the bar before he took a seat in a wing chair.

Huffing out a breath, Oliver did as Anatoly said, pouring himself a measure of vodka into a glass and sitting down. “What is the task you want me to perform, Anatoly?”

Like a switch had been flipped, the cheer vanished from Anatoly's face. Oliver didn't think his joy was faked; Anatoly was just able to separate the different parts of his life so completely that it was like he was two different men. 

“Ah, my friend, it is a shame, to bring such matters to light on a day like today. But it must be done. And it is something only you can achieve. You remember your mission here, four years ago?”

His throat closed up and Oliver gripped his glass tightly. He nodded his head jerkily.

“Of course you remember. Such a thing is not easily forgotten. My apologies, Oliver.”

Lifting his glass for a drink, the burn of the vodka provided a measure of comfort in a warped way as Anatoly continued.

“I need you to speak to the head of the Kutaisi clan. He is old now--older than his years. Some say he has never recovered from the loss of his daughter. But we know differently. His men are beginning to move against us once again.”

Anatoly's voice was dark and hard. In complete control.

“One of my men will drive you to a bathhouse where the clan is meeting. Tell them what happens to those who intrude upon the Bratva’s territory. Speak as the man who prevented their last incursion.”

Swallowing, Oliver felt his skin crawl. There were many ways to deliver a message to an enemy. Ways that he once could perform easily, without a second thought. But now, with his battered promise to Tommy, with his desire to live up to Felicity's belief in him . . .

“How--how do you want me to deliver this message?” Oliver asked, hearing his voice shake.

“With words alone and nothing else, my friend,” Anatoly said, his voice understanding. “With this, I will inform all that you have made good for your previous infractions.”

“Anatoly, you can't possibly do that--”

At Oliver's rebuttal, Anatoly rose to his feet. “I am the пахан. If I say it is so, it is so.” The command was unmistakable, no less intimidating for Anatoly's control and confidence.

What could he do but accept? There was no arguing with Anatoly, and Oliver was dreading this task too much to have the heart to put up a fight over his reward. So he just nodded and Anatoly returned to his seat.

There was quiet for a moment, interrupted only by the clink of the ice cubes in their glasses. Oliver was pondering whether he should down the rest of his drink and get a refill when Anatoly spoke.

“Have you ever read Nabokov, Oliver?” 

Looking up, Oliver gave Anatoly a dark half-smile. “I didn’t read much at any of the colleges I went to.” 

Anatoly chuckled. “You do not have to go to college to read. And something he wrote, it made me think of you. How you were before, and how you are now. Тоска.” 

“Тоска?” Oliver wrinkled his brow, trying to place the word. “What does it mean?”

“It has no word close to it in English, but the closest is ‘yearning’. For something you do not know or recognize.” Anatoly looked at him over the rim of his glass, his eyes dark and probing. 

Pausing to swirl the contents of his glass around, Oliver thought that over. “It seems very Russian.”

Once again, his friend chuckled--a sound that seemed to rub how Anatoly knew everything, especially about Oliver. Oliver hated chuckles. 

“Yes, we do seem to have the edge when it comes to undefinable feelings. It’s the cold. It makes you turn inwards, makes you reflective. But you, мой друг, are very American.” 

It nearly made Oliver roll his eyes. If only Anatoly knew how much thinking he had been doing lately. But he stayed silent, doing his best to meet Anatoly's gaze without revealing more than he already had.

Anatoly also stayed silent, drinking the last of his vodka, his eyes on Oliver. Measuring, assessing. “I can see that you have changed since our last visit together. Which makes me truly sorry for this favor I ask of you.”

“It’s nothing, Anatoly,” Oliver said, only for the пахан to cut him off.

“It is something. That is why I will forgive your past errors after this errand,” Anatoly said, his voice a river that washed over Oliver. It didn't wash him clean, but it gave him a measure of comfort. 

Just what he needed for this job--his last job. It was rare for a man to be in the Bratva and not owe or be owed any favors; few were able to achieve such a delicate balance. But this was the gift that Anatoly was offering Oliver. 

It was something Anatoly didn’t have to give him and probably would be something he regretted, once his wedding euphoria wore off. But for now, Oliver wasn’t going to question his пахан. He was going to take this gift and hope to get out of Russia with his slowly-repairing soul still intact.

Nodding, Oliver put aside his glass and slowly got to his feet. “Thank you. I am ready now.”

“Very good. Yuri and Boris will go with you. Nicholas will watch your friends, if they leave the hotel.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, making sure that Anatoly knew the thanks weren't just for the guard on Digg and Felicity.

“Of course,” Anatoly said. “It might be hard to see, but you are still well-regarded here, Oliver, for your past successes. It will not be hard for me to quiet any grumbling after today. Now, you must go if you will be back in time for the wedding. The bathhouse is somewhat isolated.”

With another nod, Oliver walked to the door, where the large man was waiting. He gave Oliver a small smile. “I am Yuri. Come, капитан.”

“Yes,” Oliver said, staying quiet as he worked to pull his Bratva self to the forefront. Even though it felt like squeezing into a coat that did not fit anymore. 

But if this was all he needed to do to be done with the Bratva, to keep John and Felicity safe . . .

It was what he would do. 

But before he got too deep, he made sure to send a message to Digg, saying he wouldn’t be able to join him and Felicity for sightseeing.

XXX

When he returned to the hotel, all he wanted was a long, hot shower. Not so much to clean himself off--he had walked away without any blood on his hands. But the bathhouse had been warm and muggy, and his clothes felt damp and unpleasant against his skin. 

And he just wanted some time to wash away what he had done. Yes, he hadn’t needed to use his fists to make clear what Anatoly wanted, but . . . mental intimidation was sometimes worse than the physical kind. 

For once, luck was on his side: Felicity wasn’t in their room--the notion of which gave Oliver a mild jolt. Because how much did he wish it was their room? That they were sharing the room, the bed, because they were together? 

He pushed aside that thought and retrieved his suitcase, carrying it to Digg’s room. Letting himself in with the key card Digg had given him, he felt his shoulders slump now that he was no longer in public and was finally able to relax. 

Without any delay, he got into the shower and tried to push away this day. The situation with the rival clan leader, Anatoly’s leading conversation, even the tension with Felicity. The latter of which was weighing on him the most. Because everything kept coming back to Felicity.

He was just so . . . tired. Tired of going around in circles, tired of hoping only to push those hopes down and away. Because he was scared. Scared of losing Felicity. No matter what he did, he could lose her. He could keep her at arm’s length, poison their partnership and watch as she found a man who truly deserved it. But if he pulled her close, there were innumerable risks. That he would screw it up, given his relationship track record. That she would be a target, that she would be hurt or worse because of being with him. 

The hot water beat against his skin, a counterpoint to the drumming of his thoughts. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, tried to prepare himself for what was to come tonight at the wedding, for how he needed to repair things with Felicity. To not make the same mistakes he had in the past. Assuming he could get what he wanted, assuming that he deserved to get what he wanted. Because he wasn’t the same impulsive, naïve man as he had been when he first returned to Starling City. He had hurt Tommy by taking what he wanted. He had contributed to Laurel losing the man she really loved. 

Those mistakes proved that even five years in hell wasn’t enough to strip away all of his flaws. In the aftermath of the Undertaking, he saw what an arrogant, entitled asshole he still was. And that realization--and knowing he didn’t want to be that man--made him want to change. To be better. Starting with not hopping into bed with any woman who might soothe the ache inside himself. Other than the mistake with Isabel, there had only been Sara. And he had been ready to make a commitment to her, only for Sara to tell him she wasn’t. 

And maybe he wasn’t so ready, either. Not if within days of Sara leaving, he woke up and saw Felicity for the first time. All those random moments between them, when he had felt proud or amused or challenged or aroused, combined into one emotion that he had never felt before. Nothing else felt like loving Felicity.

It was undefinable . . . like Тоска, he supposed. 

Oliver straightened up, opening his eyes. The water was lukewarm and time was slipping away. He didn’t have the time to keep debating all this. Felicity and Digg would be waiting for him in the lobby. 

With methodical movements, he finished his shower and got dressed in his suit. And as he did so, he tried to grasp something that would help him get out of his head. Something that would help him make some kind of overture to Felicity, instead of staying in this limbo. 

Because he didn’t want to lose Felicity. Even though he didn’t trust himself with her. But he had to find a way to balance those two warring instincts, because he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. 

XXX

Stepping into the lobby, Oliver’s head swiveled as he looked for Felicity. He wasn’t sure how much time she was going to spend on getting ready and he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday, with Felicity surrounded by a bunch of douchebags. Even though his position would improve once Anatoly spread the word about his work today, there would be people who would attack him through Felicity. 

When he spotted Digg near the front doors of the lobby, he made his way over to him. But Digg was alone. Alone, with one of those probing looks on his face as Oliver came closer. 

“Where’s Felicity?” he asked once he was in front of his partner. 

“On her way down,” Digg replied, pocketing his phone. “I just texted her.” 

The words made him want to let out a sigh of relief, but somehow he managed to just breathe normally. “Okay,” Oliver said, sliding his hands into his pockets and trying to appear calm. “Did you and Felicity have a good time sightseeing? I was sorry I couldn’t come along.” 

“Yeah, we had fun. Went to that park we saw driving in. The one with the carousel?”

“Gorky Park. That’s good,” Oliver said, glad that Felicity and Digg had gotten to see it. 

Digg eyed him. “You and Felicity . . . you still haven’t talked about what happened before Slade took her. Have you?”

The last thing he wanted was to get into this with Digg now. Because he wasn’t sure if it would end well. But after spending the day with Felicity--a Felicity who perhaps was showing signs that she was bothered by something--it was natural for Digg to connect the dots and blame Oliver for Felicity being upset. 

“Not . . . not as much as we should,” Oliver conceded. 

The sigh that Diggle let out was so deep and so heavy, it sounded like it came from his toes. He rubbed a hand over his face, then fixed his brown eyes on Oliver. “I’ve been trying to hold back--”

“Really?” Oliver asked, doing his best to keep his voice even. “I wouldn’t say so.” 

A spark of anger appeared in Digg’s eyes and he pointed at Oliver. “I haven’t locked you two idiots in a closet until you finally started talking about what matters. So yeah, I’ve been holding back.” 

With a quiet groan, Oliver removed his hands from his pockets and stepped closer to Digg.

“Digg, what do you want me to do? If you want me to say I shouldn’t have told Felicity how I feel, you’re right. I shouldn’t have. It’s not fair to her.” 

“Why? Because you don’t want to be with her?” 

“Not when it puts her in danger. I told you, Digg, when I brought Felicity into this--we would keep her safe. Nothing’s changed,” Oliver said firmly. 

“She’s not in physical danger from you,” Digg disagreed, folding his arms over his chest. “But this ‘are you or aren’t you’ thing, it puts you both in emotional danger. She doesn’t know if you meant it--you don’t know how she feels. What’s gonna happen the next time some bad guy threatens Felicity, or you’re in a tight spot? Unresolved feelings have a way of making bad situations worse.” 

There was something in his voice that made Oliver sense Digg was speaking from experience. It probably had to do with Lyla, something painful in their past. Or maybe Digg was hurting with Lyla being in the field now, even though she was only a few months pregnant--hurting more than he had let on. That was the thing about Digg: his advice came from his own experiences. 

Digg always guided; it was rare for him to flat-out state that Oliver was on the wrong path. But he was pretty much saying that right now, and Oliver didn’t know what to do. He knew he wanted to talk to Felicity, and Digg’s advice was even more reason to do so. Because Digg was right. 

What would happen once crime picked up and they were back to their normal routine? What would happen if Felicity was hurt--or if he was staring down death yet again? Wouldn’t it be better to not compound the mistakes that had already been made between them, by having more words said in the heat of the moment that left too much in doubt? Wouldn’t it be better for them to be on the same page when it came to their emotions for each other? 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Oliver breathed deeply. “Look, Digg, I’m working on it.”

“All you’ve been doing is ‘working on it’,” Digg said with a sigh. “I keep saying this, but I mean it: I don’t want either of you to get hurt.” 

“I know,” Oliver said, pasting on a smile. “I don’t want that, either.” 

Nodding, Digg swept his eyes around the lobby, his gaze coming to a stop on a point over Oliver’s left shoulder. “Here she comes.” 

At Digg’s words, Oliver turned around towards the elevators and felt his mouth go dry. 

The woman walking towards them was a vision. Hair the color of sunshine fell around her face in soft ringlets. Her lips were painted a deep red, outlining her perfect mouth and making him want to kiss her more than ever before. And the color of her lips were nearly a perfect match for her sleek and sophisticated gown. 

Felicity was stunning. A knockout. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Until Oliver looked into her eyes and saw the deep unhappiness there. Unhappiness that he knew he had put there. With pushing her away, with not talking to her, with telling her he loved her at the absolutely worst time. She didn’t understand. And Felicity, who hated mysteries and needed to solve any puzzle, hated not understanding.

Even though she was trying to hide it, Felicity was unhappy and sad and confused. And that was wrong. And he had to fix it. 

Oliver took a deep breath. He _needed_ to fix this. It was a need that burned in his gut, made his hands tingle with the desire to reach out and take her hands, to hold her in place as he tried to find the words to explain himself. 

It wouldn’t be easy. But he was going to find a way to wipe that look from her face. To make things better and tell her that although things between them weren’t exactly moving forward, he wanted that to happen. He just needed time, which he knew he didn’t deserve to get from her since he was the one who had changed everything between them. 

If she was willing to give him that time, he would figure out what to do. He would do anything to get that look off Felicity’s face permanently. 

Starting tonight, he would make things right.

End, Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> мой друг: my friend


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, talk about riding a roller coaster, with this week’s Flash/Arrow crossover and then the promos for 4x09, huh? I hope that this chapter of The Calculation--the penultimate one--will help you deal with your feels. Let’s see if Oliver is able to do something about hurting Felicity and how Felicity reacts to him . . .

_**Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up**_  
Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up

XXX

Even with the sunshine, it was cool inside Gorky Park. Felicity was thankful for her research which told her bringing a light jacket would be a good idea. And the bright pink of her jacket cheered her up a little. 

And she could use all the cheering up she could get after this morning. 

Everything about this trip had gone wrong. She had hoped, stupidly and naïvely, that being away from Starling City and their normal lives, attending a wedding together and being all dressed up, might make a difference. Might make Oliver willing to finally tell her, plainly and clearly, what a hundred little moments--in the Arrow Cave, in the Queen Mansion, in their hotel room--had added up to a solution she couldn’t deny any longer. 

They weren’t unthinkable.

But they did seem to be impossible. Impossible for them to have an actual relationship, impossible that she would ever know what it would be like to kiss Oliver, impossible that he would ever tell her if he meant his ‘I love you’. 

Oh, Felicity knew he meant it. Last night? This morning? She was convinced. As she once told Digg, she was blonde, but she wasn’t _that_ blonde. 

Oliver Queen loved her. But he would never, ever tell her that again. She could guess some of his reasons, but whatever they were, he wasn’t going to say it. Not when it had been over a month since that night in the Queen mansion and he had refused to explain himself. He didn’t want to hurt her, she was sure. So he would just not talk about it, not share what he was thinking and feeling, not open up with her. 

Which meant she had to learn to ignore her dreams and forget all her hopes. 

When she had picked out the dress she would wear tonight, when she planned how to wear her hair and do her makeup, there had been a tingle of excitement in the midst of her nerves. Because she had seen plenty of romantic comedies, and even though she knew they were fantasies, it had to happen in real life often enough to become a stereotype and a cliche, right? There had to be situations where a woman got all dressed up and a man saw her with new eyes and realized that no matter what might be holding him back, none of that mattered now. 

But that was the problem with dreams: when they didn’t come true, it hurt. It hurt so much. 

For all the work she had done since they had returned from Lian Yu, trying to break her old habits, Felicity knew now that she hadn’t really changed. It would take much longer than twenty-one days to form the habit of not caring about Oliver. And she wasn’t even sure if she _wanted_ to form that habit. But she was so tired of being uncertain, of not knowing where she stood. Of wanting without any prospect of having. Of both of them never being on the same page at the same time. At this point, she wasn’t even sure if it was Oliver she wanted or answers. 

Was it so wrong to want to know what Oliver wanted? To be able to make an informed decision? After all, “I love you” could mean so many things. He could love her like a friend or another sister or a partner. Maybe he wasn’t sexually attracted to her, like she was to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t love her. She just wanted to know!

“You’re awfully quiet. Which is something I never thought I’d say about you.” 

Digg’s warm, caring voice snapped her out of her thoughts, making her realize what a bad friend she was being. Giving herself a mental shake, she looked at Digg. “Just a lot going on,” she told him, smiling. “What do you think of the park? It’s pretty, isn’t it? Although it’s chillier here than I thought it would be, even with reading what the average temperatures are.”

He tilted his head, then lifted his hand and rested it on her shoulder. “You know, you’re allowed to be quiet, Felicity. Especially if you’re unhappy.” 

“I’m not--” she began to protest, but Digg’s measured look made her jaws snap shut. 

“Your smile isn’t reaching your eyes,” he explained gently, his hand rubbing her shoulder. “And I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say it’s because of Oliver.” 

She didn’t like this. She didn’t want Digg to tell her what he thought about her and Oliver. They might talk about Oliver a lot, but they had rarely talked about their individual relationships with him. The closest they had come was during the Tockman case. 

This was different than talking about Oliver and Sara dating and her place on the team. This wasn’t about her insecurities--it was about Oliver’s. 

“I . . .” she said, before letting her voice trail off. Because what could she say? This wasn’t something she wanted to talk about with John. Because she trusted his judgement so much, if he advised her to move on from Oliver . . . she would have to try.

But she wasn’t sure she would like who she became if she succeeded. 

Digg gave her a look that was full of sympathy. “Do you want me to talk to him? Because I've got to tell you, I'm worried about both of you.”

Felicity couldn't help smiling, even if she wanted to cringe at the idea of Digg giving Oliver ‘a talk’. Because she imagined it was the kind of thing a big brother would do for his sister. The kind of thing Oliver would do for Thea.

If only she had a brother like John.

“Thank you, John, but . . . no. I don't want to feel like Oliver's being coerced into saying anything. He--he has to want to talk to me, you know?”

He nodded and they walked in silence for a few moments. And suddenly, there was a charming, old-fashioned carousel in front of them, a carousel with two levels.

“Oh!” Felicity said, gazing up at it. “Okay, this was worth the walk.”

Chuckling, Digg nodded. “It was.”

They both watched the carousel as it revolved, the smiling faces of the children and the protective grasp of their parents, all in the pale sunlight of a summer afternoon in Moscow.

And she felt the ache of Oliver’s absence, and wished he could be here to see this sight. For him to see such a simple moment of joy, and she wondered if he would get that look on his face again. That wistfully pleased expression.

“I have one more thing to say about this,” Digg said quietly. “Something I learned in my Army days.”

It wasn't often that Digg have her advice like this. Or . . . ever. So Felicity knew this was important enough for her to not ignore or brush aside.

“It's better to live with consequences than regrets, Felicity.”

She sucked in a breath, hoping it wasn't audible. Because . . . yeah, that was--that was powerful. So powerful that she knew she would need some time to think this over. And some mint chip ice cream.

But she wanted to give him an answer. So she turned her head and looked up at her friend, at her almost-brother.

“You're right. But everyone has regrets.”

XXX

Felicity looked at herself in the mirror and groaned. Her makeup was a mess: she had only lined one of her eyes and her blush was uneven. And she wasn’t happy with the shade of lipstick she had chosen, either. 

Taking a few wipes from her makeup bag, she decided to remove all the cosmetics and start over. If Oliver and Digg had to wait a few extra minutes, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. And right now, she really, really, _really_ needed the armor of flawless makeup. 

She closed her eyes, breathing slowly for a minute to settle her mind and racing heart. Then she got to work, carefully applying her makeup and doing her best to keep her mind off Oliver. And if her mind did wander a little and she wouldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror . . . well, she was alone. No one would be the wiser. 

This time, everything went smoothly. She touched up her hair, then slid out of her robe and pulled on her dress. Checking the small clock by the bed, she felt relieved. Even with having to redo her makeup, she was still on time.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Felicity smoothed down her dress and turned around to make sure it was hanging correctly. She inspected her hair, curling a strand around her finger to keep it twisted in the right direction. Looking over her face, she touched her finger to her cheek, removing a tiny speck of lipstick. 

And then her eyes met her reflected ones and Felicity took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to curl up in bed and not face Oliver, that wasn’t an option. It would be rude to Anatoly and Galina, as well as a waste of all the time she had taken to get ready. And besides, she had to face Oliver eventually. Had to look him in the eye and accept that whatever there was between them, it would never be more than what it was right now.

All she had to do was get through the wedding and the reception, doing her best to not show what she was feeling. They would be coming back to the hotel after the reception to change and pack, before heading to the airport and returning to Starling City. At least she wouldn’t be alone with Oliver: Diggle would be there, too. 

But this would still require all her strength.

She would get through today, and then tomorrow . . . she would find a way to talk to Oliver. To put all her cards on the table, to tell him what she needed from him and find out if he could give her that. He might be fine with continuing to exist in this strange limbo, but she wasn’t. 

For the last month, she had waited for Oliver to say something. Now it was time to stop waiting and start acting. Because if he wasn’t going to deal with this, she would--before it totally destroyed everything. Perhaps this way, they could at least work together. Because she believed in helping to save Starling City, in a way that was bigger than volunteering at a soup kitchen or giving blood. Oliver needed her help when he was the Arrow. 

And if he decided he didn’t need her help as Oliver Queen . . . well, at least she would know. Could process with wine and mint chip, could begin making some decisions about what she wanted out of her life.

There had been enough waiting. She had done enough hiding. Now it was time to live. And time for her to get to the lobby and meet John and Oliver.

By the time she had reached the lobby, some of the fire had faded. Now she felt a bit tired and a bit sad. And since it was Digg and Oliver, she didn’t feel like pasting on a smile and starting up the chatter. Instead, she just looked them over as she walked towards them. 

Both men cleaned up nicely. Digg looked dapper and imposing in his dark suit and shirt, the power of his physique impossible to miss. He caught sight of her and gave her an encouraging smile before saying something to Oliver, who turned to face her. 

And it just wasn’t fair. How her heart beat harder when she saw him in his well-fitting black suit, how she realized his deep maroon tie almost coordinated with her dress, how his eyes met hers and showed all the unspoken words in the blue depths. She could tell he was feeling nervous, that he was concerned about her, that he still hadn’t gotten enough sleep. 

It was funny. She could tell exactly what he was thinking and feeling by looking at how he held his shoulders and the inflection of his voice, but there was so much else she didn’t know about him. Not just when it came to the island and those five years when nothing good happened. He might not know her birthday, but there was plenty she didn't know about him, too.

How could she feel like she knew Oliver Queen down to his bones while not even knowing how he best liked to spend a Sunday when he had nothing to do? 

That realization made her even sadder than those three stupid words standing between them.

“Felicity, you look beautiful,” Digg said, walking forward to meet her as she drew close to them. His hand went to her back as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. 

His kindness made her smile, although she knew it wasn’t a very happy-looking smile. “Thank you, John. You look exceptionally handsome. I’m definitely going to take a photo for Lyla. She’s missing out on seeing her baby daddy look so GQ.” She tried to smile a bit wider and put some more cheer in her voice. Fake it ‘til you make it.

“She’s seen it before, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the photo,” Digg said, his voice full of amusement.

Nodding, she squared her shoulders a little and looked at Oliver. “You look great, too.” 

His lips parted and his eyes darkened, a reaction she couldn’t categorize. Then he swallowed and said, his voice choked, “Thank you. You--you look beautiful.” 

When Digg said that, she felt warm and comforted. It was brotherly. But when Oliver said the same words . . . it was different. It was different because of the way he looked at her, the way his voice was so deep, the way he took a step towards her when he spoke.

Without conscious thought, Felicity took a small step back, keeping the same amount of space between them. Oliver’s reaction was practically written all over his face: his eyes shuttered and his shoulders dropped, and then he stepped back as well.

“Felicity, why don’t you take that picture now, before I sit in the car and my suit gets wrinkled. And I know Lyla will want a photo of you,” Digg said, drawing her attention. 

“Yes--yes, of course, good thinking, Digg,” Felicity said, grateful for the distraction. She scrabbled through her clutch and pulled out her phone, holding it up to take a picture of Digg, then handing him the phone so he could return the favor. 

“If you want one of the both of you, I can take it,” Oliver said, his voice so unbearably polite and distant. He felt left out, and Felicity wanted to not care, but she did care. 

Digg must have heard it, too, because he gave Oliver a friendly smile. “Sure. And then we’ll get one of the three of us.” 

Her phone was passed to Oliver and Felicity stood beside Digg, each with an arm wrapped around the other. “You okay?” Digg whispered as they waited for Oliver to step back enough to get them both in the frame.

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “I’m okay. Thanks.” 

There was the telltale click of the camera shutter and Felicity knew, without even seeing the picture, that the photo of her looking up at Digg would become one of her favorites. Oliver snapped another one, with them facing the camera, before he turned and spoke in Russian to a bored-looking teenager. 

The teen took the phone without question, waiting as Oliver moved towards them. She could see him hesitating, wondering if he should stand beside John, but suddenly she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to think she could cut him out of her life easily. Even if there was never anything more between them . . . they were partners. So she gave him a small smile and gestured towards her other side. “Here, Oliver.” 

There weren’t many photos of the three of them. She wanted this one to be a good one. She wanted to be flanked by her team, by her boys. A memory of a time when she had two men who were willing to do anything to protect her, just like she was willing to do the same for them. 

Oliver tried to keep his face neutral, but she could see the relief and pleasure and contentment in his eyes. He fell into place beside her, his hand hovering over her upper back but not making contact with her bare skin. But she could feel the heat from his fingers, warming the air between their bodies. She barely held back her shiver. 

The teen said something and Oliver nodded, before saying softly, “In Russian, ‘cheese’ is сыр.” 

“Syr?” she asked, looking up at him. 

His soft smile made her knees feel weak and made her wish she had wrapped her arm around his waist, instead of letting her fingertips rest against his upper back. “Perfect.” 

Somehow, she didn’t think he meant her pronunciation. But she couldn’t think about that now, so she turned her head to face the camera and said, “сыр!”

The camera flashed and the teen held the phone out. Felicity stepped forward, grateful and disappointed at moving away from Oliver, to take back her phone. And there, on screen, was the photo: all three of them, smiles on their faces and standing close together. But you could tell there were currents moving underneath the surface, especially when your eyes locked on Oliver’s face. Or her own. 

“I--I’ll send the pictures to Lyla in the car,” Felicity said quickly, stuffing her phone in her clutch. 

“The car’s waiting for us,” Digg replied, resting his hand on Felicity’s back and leading her towards the exit. “Y’know, with the baby coming, I’m gonna have to get better at taking photos. I always cut off people’s heads or my finger gets in the shot.” 

“Did you want to get an actual camera or just use your phone?” Felicity asked, looking up at Digg and sensing Oliver was just behind them, following them outside.

Digg shrugged. “I’m fine with either one. Lyla was talking about Instagram--she said her sister uses it all the time and that it was easy.” 

“Instagram is definitely easy, and it’s a lot of fun. And since it’s uploading to the Internet, you don’t have to worry about losing all your photos if you drop your phone into the bathtub while you’re commemorating the baby’s first bath or something. That happened to my mom,” Felicity said with a smile. 

“Definitely a consideration,” Digg said, chuckling as he helped her into the car. He took the seat across from her, leaving Oliver to decide whether to sit beside her or next to Digg. 

Felicity watched as Oliver hesitated for a split second before he slid in beside her. He left plenty of space between them, but he made eye contact with her as he sat down. And she wasn’t able to look away. Because . . . something seemed to be going on with Oliver. Something that made him determined to _not_ avoid her, as she thought he would. 

And she didn’t know what that meant, but it made her feel a spark. Like she was really alive, really present, for the first time in a long while. 

“Would you send me the pictures, too?” Oliver asked, his voice low and soft. 

“Of--of course,” Felicity said, gripping her clutch tightly. “I’ll send them to all of us. As . . . as backup. In case one of our phones gets damaged.” 

Oliver nodded. “Good plan.” He gave her a small smile, one that she would call shy on anyone else. “You’ve always got a lot of good plans.” 

“That’s our Felicity--saving our bacon, every day.” Digg’s voice was proud and friendly, gently puncturing the odd, intimate bubble that had sprung up around her and Oliver. 

“Yes,” Oliver agreed, leaning back against the seat. 

“Flatterers, both of you,” Felicity said, opening up her clutch and taking out her phone. Wanting a moment to collect herself, a moment to figure out what was going on with Oliver. 

Wanting a moment to look at the photo of her, Digg and Oliver. And remembering Oliver’s words to Laurel from when they went to face Slade.

_This started with the three of us. It’s time we got back to that._

She still wasn’t sure what that meant. Was it just to shut down Laurel? Who hadn’t been back to the Arrow Cave since that day. And Oliver had made no attempts to shut out Roy--after all, he was holding down the fort in Starling City while they were gone, with an ARGUS contact of Lyla’s on speed dial if he ran into anything big. 

With those words ringing in her ears, Felicity felt more committed to ever to making sure she stayed on the team. That even if she and Oliver were never more, they would at least maintain their working relationship. Because without one of them, there was no team, she thought. They had seen that when Digg had quit, after Oliver had chosen Laurel over Deadshot. 

“Felicity?” 

How did Oliver make her name sound so special? She didn’t know, but every time he said her name--and he said it _a lot_ \--it was all she could do not to blush and say, “Yes, Oliver?” in a truly sappy tone of voice.

Instead, she just looked over at him. “Yeah?” 

Oliver gestured at Digg. “Digg wanted to know if you sent the photo to Lyla. He wanted to send it to her himself.” 

“Oh! Sorry, I got lost in my own little world,” Felicity said. She bent over her phone and quickly transmitted the photos to Digg and Oliver. Digg immediately pulled his phone and started tapping away, leaving her to sit in silence with Oliver. But unlike other times, it wasn’t awkward. And she didn’t know why, but maybe it was because whenever her eye caught Oliver’s, he didn’t look away or shut down. No, he held her gaze or gave her a small smile or a little nod of his head. 

It was like he was trying to make things not be weird, which was weird, but also nice. Very nice. It was enough to start chipping away at the walls she had built this morning around her heart. 

That didn't change his she didn't understand this new attitude in him. What had happened to cause him to give her all these signals? Because everything that was happening between them was at least partly due to Oliver wanting to keep her at a distance. So why was he suddenly trying to let her in, after pushing her away? 

He was just so confusing. 

She needed to stop thinking about this. She needed to focus on the wedding. All she wanted was to help celebrate Galina’s special day, and Oliver probably needed to take care of his Bratva connections. So talking to Oliver, having that long-overdue conversation, could wait until they were both in a place where they could talk freely, until everything was worked out. 

At least, she hoped that could happen. 

XXX

The closer they got to the church, the slower the car moved in the Moscow traffic. Felicity checked the time on her phone and let out a soft sigh.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to make it,” Digg said. 

“I just don’t want to be late--I missed a friend’s wedding once because of traffic and I felt so awful, walking into the reception without seeing the wedding,” Felicity explained.

Digg nodded. “It’s like skipping dinner to go straight to dessert.” 

“I don’t know if I’d say that . . . sometimes it’s better to just have dessert,” Felicity said with a grin. 

Both Digg and Oliver chuckled and Felicity looked out the window, fidgeting a little with her clutch. Feeling the still-remaining tension and awkwardness in the car and being at a loss, because for once it wasn't her causing the weirdness.

“We’re nearly there,” Oliver said, sounding like he was trying to be reassuring. 

“Yeah--isn't that the church?” Digg asked, pointing out the window.

To see what Digg was pointing at, Oliver had to lean across Felicity slightly. He did it carefully, making sure there was no contact between their bodies, but it wasn’t as if he was rejecting her. More respecting her personal space. But his body heat had no such respect; it rolled off him in waves, making her feel warm and tingly. Especially combined with a whiff of that Oliver scent she occasionally picked up. Something masculine and woodsy. 

“Yeah, that's it,” he confirmed even as the car drew up to the curb. Felicity picked up her clutch and checked to make sure the hem of her dress wasn’t underneath her heels, but she froze when Oliver’s hand touched her elbow. “Can I have a minute, Felicity? With you, I mean.” 

She looked at him, blinking in surprise. “Um . . . all right.” 

There was a thick silence before Diggle said, “I’ll just wait for you both over there.” He gestured towards the entrance of the church as he made eye contact with Felicity. Silently asking her if she was okay. 

Nodding, she gave him a small smile, which he returned as he stepped out of the car. The soft thud of the door closing behind him seemed very loud. 

And then it was just her and Oliver, in the back seat of a car. An Oliver who now seemed nervous, from the way his thumb was rubbing against his fingers.

“I haven’t told you much about the Bratva.” 

What? Felicity tried to keep the surprise off her face. Because Oliver talking about the Russian mob wasn’t exactly what she thought was going to happen here. Not that she had gotten much time to think about the topic of this conversation--but it had been plenty of time for all her foolish hopes to re-emerge, despite trying to keep at least a little of her anger at him. 

Lightly licking her lips, she nodded a little. “No, you haven’t.” 

“My time in Russia . . . I did things I’m not proud of. Things that . . . it was different on the island. I could--I could justify a lot of the things I did there,” Oliver said, his voice halting and hesitant. “I could claim what I was doing was for survival. But then I got off the island and eventually I ended up in Moscow.” 

It was obvious that there was a lot he was leaving out. Just the story of how he had left Lian Yu must be huge. It was so difficult for her to tamp down her natural curiosity, to not ask for or demand all the clues so she could solve the mystery of Oliver’s five years. 

But Felicity had done her best to take what Oliver could offer when it came to his five years. To accept that he would reveal what he could, when he could. It wasn’t because he liked holding on to his secrets or didn’t want her to know. There were times she thought he wanted to tell her--to tell someone--everything that had happened to him. She was one of a very few, very lucky people that Oliver trusted enough with the ugly parts of his past. Some of those ugly pieces, at least. Other than the people like Sara and Slade, Felicity and Digg probably knew the most about his past. 

That gift of trust wasn’t one she was going to abuse. So even though she wished she could know more, she would always let Oliver go at his own pace. 

“Is that when you joined the Bratva?” she asked softly. 

Oliver nodded. “Yes. It was how Anatoly repaid me for saving his life. The Bratva’s resources let me return to the island, to set in motion my ‘rescue’ without other . . . complications.” 

“Okay,” Felicity said, still not sure what was going on. 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve attended a wedding in Russia,” Oliver explained, his voice raspy. “That other wedding . . . the reception was held at the hotel where we’re staying.” 

“Oh,” Felicity whispered, a puzzle piece falling into place. His unusual behavior when he saw the hotel, the way he had been so on edge during this trip . . . She knew he was leaving plenty unsaid, and could only guess at how bad it was. From the expression on Oliver’s face--his brows drawn together, his eyes full of sadness and loathing--whatever had happened, he still carried the guilt and shame from the event, even to this day. 

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Sometimes it’s hard to not get lost in the past. Especially when you have to go back, and the memories . . .” 

“Slap you in the face?”

With a tight smile on his face, Oliver nodded slowly. “Yeah.” 

With tentative movements, she reached out and lightly rested her hand on his forearm. With the physical contact, she couldn’t look into his eyes, so she let her gaze move to a point in the distance. “Until a year ago, I hadn’t been back to Boston since I graduated. Because some of my memories aren’t good ones and I was--I was scared of what would happen if I really remembered.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but Felicity kept her gaze off in the distance, watching cars drive past the windows on Oliver’s side of the car. “And then I went back to visit a friend, and . . . and I realized that the memories were still painful, but they were also a reminder. That I had gotten through what happened and I was stronger for it.” 

Slowly, she brought her focus back to Oliver. And the expression in his eyes made her feel flustered. She had just spouted off something incredibly trite, like a freshman after half a semester of philosophy, yet he was gazing at her like she had just handed him the secret to the universe. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

For a split-second, she wondered if _Punk’d_ had come back and she was their first victim. But why would she, of all people, be the victim? It was more likely that Oliver would be, not her--not utter nobody Felicity Smoak. But . . . Oliver was glad she was here? 

“You are?” she stuttered, her heart pounding in her chest. 

Oliver nodded, his eyes not looking away from her. “There’s no one else I’d rather have at my side during this wedding than you.” 

For only the second time in her life, Felicity was speechless. And both times had been the fault of Oliver Queen. Because . . . wow. Saying he loved her--that was equivocal. She still wasn’t sure how he loved her, whether they might have an actual relationship someday. But this? Oliver saying he was glad she was there with him? That--well, it seemed pretty straightforward.

“I never gave you an answer,” she blurted out. 

Confusion was a good look on Oliver, she had always thought. His eyes narrowed a bit and his forehead wrinkled when he was extra-befuddled. His lips would purse slightly and he would just stare at her, waiting for her to explain whatever she had said which had just knocked him for a loop. And this time was no exception, forehead wrinkle and all. 

“Last night. You--you asked if we could spend some time together.” 

At that, his confusion morphed into something else. Something that looked like awe. She was pretty sure he was holding his breath . . . just like she was. Which was impossible, since how could she hold her breath and talk at the same time? 

After a moment, he shook his head. “I, um--I did,” he said slowly. “I thought, after what happened this morning, you wouldn’t want to give me an answer.” 

Yes . . . after the most uncomfortable yet comfortable awakening she had ever had. The moment she had rejected him, after he had rejected her last night. 

If they were ever to break out of this endless cycle of push-pull, if they could ever break down some of the walls between them to actually see what could be . . . they needed to know more about each other. They were a well-oiled machine when doing Arrow business. She could tell how he was feeling by the way he breathed over the comms. But when they were face to face and not trying to take out some bad guy, like right now, she felt like she barely knew him. And he felt the same way about her. 

So perhaps she needed to find a way to get to know more about Oliver. Not Oliver as the Arrow, or the CEO, or the charming playboy. All the masks he wore weren’t really Oliver. Not the Oliver who was sitting next to her right now. And she wanted to get to know this Oliver, figure out how to make him laugh, how to cheer him up, how to make him relax. 

Maybe he would never be ready to tell her if they could be more. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. Because she thought they could be friends. Really good friends. They already had trust and respect, they could joke around together (at least she could joke with him--Oliver’s sense of humor was as dry as the Sahara), they had common goals but different backgrounds. 

A friendship with Oliver could be incredibly rewarding. And a way to let her deal with whatever lingering crush-type feelings she might have. There was still this aura of mystery around Oliver, but maybe if she spent time with him doing friend-type things, she would see him as just a guy. A hot, caring, amazing guy.

Maybe then he could see her as something other than his IT support, too. And in the meantime . . . they could have friendship. 

“Yes. I’d like to spend more time with you,” she said quickly. “Let’s--let’s be friends. And we can start right now. Because there’s no one else I’d rather go to this wedding with than you, and you’re in luck, because I’m a great wedding guest.”

The relief was obvious on Oliver’s face. Relief, mixed with anticipation and a little bit of regret, she thought. But the tension had flowed out of him like water, and he was smiling at her, and boy, he should really smile more often. Or maybe less, because a smiling Oliver was making her stomach flip in a brand-new way. 

With his eyes bright, he said, “Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Felicity said, gathering up her clutch. “Just watch me.” 

His smile got wider. “I can’t wait.” He got out of the car, moving around it and opening her door before she had even realized he was gone. He held his hand out to her, helping her step out of the car. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, dropping her hand after a long, lingering moment. 

Felicity looked at him, taking in the change in Oliver’s attitude and appearance as they walked towards the entrance of the church. There was a soft smile on his face, his shoulders were relaxed, and his stride was free and easy yet slow enough to accommodate her. 

It was possible that spending more time with Oliver would backfire on her, big time. But for now, becoming Oliver’s friend would be enough for her. Because this already felt really good.

End, Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My full author’s notes are at the end, but I just want to say that I’m so thankful and grateful for the wonderful comments, kudos, likes, reblogs, bookmarks and subscriptions that this story has received. I write for myself, but I post it for all of you, so hearing that you’ve enjoyed my work really makes my day. Thank you!

_Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up_   
_**Hey this fire, it's burnin', burnin' us up** _

XXX

Thanks to the silencer, there’s only a soft _fwpt_ when he pulls the trigger, sending a bullet into the side of the bride’s head. Blood and brains exit her skull in a spray, staining the bedding and carpeting and walls. He is turning towards the groom when the man’s eyes pop open.

Oliver curses and moves quickly, shoving the gun into the man’s mouth and pulling the trigger again. 

Because that was what he decided to do. Kill them both. 

If he followed through with his mission and just killed the bride, he would be leaving behind a grief-stricken widower. A man who would be tortured by his wife being killed while he slept beside her. Haunted by his guilt and his shame and his loss. 

Those feelings were too similar to what Oliver is carrying inside himself. All the pain and misery, it suffocated him when he thought about it. His actions earlier--freezing up when the newly married couple came in and his memories washing over him--was proof enough of the destructive power of emotions. 

This is a kindness. This way, the man doesn’t have to live with any of that. If there’s a heaven or anything like that, the two of them are probably together now. 

And what does it matter if Oliver has a bit more blood on his hands? There’s already so much, it isn’t like he would ever be able to distinguish this couple’s blood from all the other stains on his soul. 

He snatches up his bag, getting ready to leave, when he stops and curses again. Powder burns. 

The man won’t have any gunpowder residue on his hands, because it’s on Oliver’s gloves. He was impulsive and sloppy and now he has to figure out how to make it look like the man pulled the trigger to kill his wife and then himself. 

For a moment, Oliver considers the old pillow trick: put the gun in the man’s hand, shoot into a pillow, and take the pillow with him. But if anything was missing from this room, the police will undoubtedly realize it. 

Looking around the room, searching for solutions, Oliver sighs as he realizes what he has to do. It’s not ideal, but it will work. 

The gun goes in the groom’s hand and Oliver slides his suit jacket off his left shoulder. With his right hand, he lifts the gun and wraps his fingers around the other man’s hand, his fading warmth reaching Oliver through his gloves. And it’s so disturbing, he doesn’t hesitate to set the muzzle of the gun against his shoulder and pull the trigger for a third time. 

It isn’t the first time he’s been shot, but he still winces as the pain hits him. No matter how many times it’s happened, it’s never pleasant. 

Oliver lets the man’s hand fall onto the bed, then pulls his jacket up and over the entry wound. He needs to hurry, needs to get out of here, so he picks up his bag and takes a step towards the door. But he pauses and looks back at the bed, for some unknown reason.

The bride’s eyes are closed, the groom’s wide and staring at the ceiling. The scene is macabre and haunting and it doesn't feel right to just leave.

“It’s better for you this way,” he says softly, his voice choked. And then he slips out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

XXX

The wedding was . . . pleasant. Honestly, he had never paid that much attention to the actual ceremony, if he even bothered to attend it. The reception was where the fun was--the open bar, the flirting, the joking with Tommy. Oliver had fallen asleep during at least three ceremonies because they had so bored him.

But at this one, there was Felicity, who was attentively watching everything that happened. It was more interesting for Oliver to watch her than the action at the altar, but after Digg cleared his throat for the second time, Oliver realized just how much he was looking at Felicity. And Digg wasn’t the only one noticing. 

Felicity caught his eye and gave him a small smile. Her eyes sparkled a little as she tilted her head towards the front of the church. A silent admonition to pay attention, but with no anger or guilt behind it. Just . . . amusement.

Did it make her happy, to catch him looking at her? He hoped that she at least didn't mind it, because now that they had agreed to--

Well, he wasn't sure yet just what they had agreed to, but he did know their relationship was changing. Changing in a way that meant he didn't have to look away when she noticed he was looking at her.

And by changing his relationship with Felicity, he was changing his whole life. Changing his long-held beliefs of how he would live when he left Lian Yu.

Before he had come back, his goals had been simple. He had wanted to right his father’s wrongs. Keep Starling safe. Protect his family and those he cared about. He hadn’t considered that he would want anything more than that. Because he was going to save his city on his own, reject all his old selfish ways. But it didn’t seem possible to be a selfless savior. Not with his family and friends wanting him to be part of their lives, not with Digg and Felicity showing him all the choices he was ruling out. 

So what could he allow himself to have? What wouldn’t get in the way of the mission? Oliver didn’t know quite yet. He knew what he would want if he wasn’t the Arrow, of course. Or did he? His forehead wrinkled as he mulled that over. If he could hang up the hood right now, what would he do? He paused, prepared for his mistakes to haunt him like always. Laurel. Tommy. His mother.

But that didn't happen. Instead, he saw Felicity. Smiling at him, her hair mussed and her eyes sleepy, as she moved closer to him in bed. A bed that was warm from their bodies and from the rays of morning sunlight falling over it.

Oliver swallowed and looked down. It wasn't the right time to be thinking about that. Not just because he was in a church, but because that was so far ahead of them, if that was even a future he could have with Felicity.

He wanted it, though. If he wasn't the Arrow . . . that was what he wanted.

Giving his head a small shake, Oliver returned his attention to the ceremony. There was still a lot of work to do to help Starling City. He couldn’t stop being the Arrow. So he needed to concentrate on the here and now and what he could do while still saving his city, hopefully getting his family's company back, and bringing his sister home.

Like spending time with Felicity. 

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Oliver wondered what she was thinking. Were her thoughts like his, reflecting on her choices, her hopes, her dreams? Or was she just enjoying this break from their normal lives, sharing the joy of a new friend’s happy day? 

He wanted to know. And he felt a strange, excited feeling bubble up in his chest when he realized he could ask her. That when the ceremony was over, he could lean in towards her and ask her what she was thinking. Get a glimpse into how her remarkable mind worked when she was just Felicity, not the Arrow’s hacker.

Taking the first step to getting to know her as a friend.

For so much of his life, being friends with a woman was inconceivable. Before the shipwreck, women were for flirting and sex--he had Tommy for friendship. On the island and afterwards, having friends was too risky, too dangerous. Every time he tried, it seemed to backfire on him. So when he returned to Starling City, he wasn’t looking to make friends, or even reconnect with his old friends, really. But for whatever mystical reason, he had people in his life that were friends. And he wanted to be a better friend, to make those friendships deeper.

And when it came to Felicity, he wanted it to be more than friendship. But she was so important to him, so vital, that he didn't want to screw this up. If he lost her . . . he didn't even want to think about it. So he had to go slow, tread carefully as he attempted to be friends with a woman for the first time in his life.

Once he has mastered friendship, maybe then he would be ready. Maybe they would both be ready, he thought as he looked at Felicity again. Because he thought she had just as many hesitations holding her back as he did. So this slow path would help her just as much as him.

The loud crash of the organ and the applause from the audience made him realize the wedding was over. Standing up, he looked at Felicity, who was smiling brightly even as her eyes shone with a few tears. “That was beautiful,” she said, looking up at him. 

“Yeah, it was,” Oliver replied, even though he had missed most of the ceremony. 

“I’m guessing the reception is going to be pretty crazy,” Digg said, stepping into the aisle and helping Felicity out of the pew. 

“If the rehearsal dinner is anything to go by, it will be,” Felicity commented with a smile. 

Digg smiled at her. “Got your dancing shoes? Because you owe me a dance.” 

Felicity gave him a cute little salute, one that made Digg laugh and Oliver smile. But as he followed them up the aisle towards the exit, and the crush of people waiting to get their cars and taxis, Oliver started thinking about dancing. It was something friends did, and something that Felicity had asked him to do. But that was last night, when she had been drinking, and before he turned her down. Could he ask for a second chance?

And then Felicity looked over her shoulder at him and smiled, and Oliver felt that bubble of happiness inside himself. Although happiness wasn't quite the word. It took him until they were in the car to figure it out.

It was hope. It had been so long since he felt that feeling, he hadn't recognized it. But he liked the feeling.

XXX

The reception was held in the ballroom of their hotel--thankfully, a different one from the last wedding he had attended here. The wedding ceremony, with its hundreds of guests, felt downright intimate in comparison to all the people crowding the ballroom. The cocktail hour lasted for closer to two hours, with vodka and champagne flowing freely. Only the extensive selection of закуски kept the guests from becoming too rowdy, the lavish spread of food balancing the alcohol. 

And with each minute that passed, Oliver saw how right Felicity was: she was a very good wedding guest. 

Even with not speaking Russian, she was so bright and cheerful that people naturally wanted to talk to her. Oliver had stayed close to her, acting as a translator while soaking up this time with Felicity. He slowly sipped his vodka tonic, making sure both he and Felicity drank water between drinks, but it didn't seem to change the lightweight, floating sensation he was feeling.

Could you get drunk on a person? On her smiles and jokes and looks? That was how he felt: utterly, completely intoxicated by being so long in her company.

It was rare for him to spend time with Felicity that wasn’t about the Arrow or Queen Consolidated. Sure, they had spent hours and hours together, but they were either playing the part of CEO and EA or working as the Arrow and his eyes and ears. He had visited her apartment a few times, there had been a couple of quick dinners or early morning breakfasts when they were transitioning from one workplace to another, but . . . but was this what it would be like from now on? If they just hung out together, sitting on her couch and eating pizza and drinking wine and watching movies? To be . . . normal?

Nothing about them had been normal. From the moment they had met, he had lied to her. She openly stared at him while he worked out shirtless. They both held back their feelings, using “friendly” touches or long looks when words meant too important. Actually being friends would be a big change. Not as big as those three words that were dancing on his tongue, aching to be said again, but close. 

Oliver didn’t know yet what being Felicity’s friend would be like. But he was realizing he would like to know. A lot. And now, he had the opportunity. Felicity--bright, sparkling, amazingly smart Felicity--wanted to spend time with _him_. It was enough to make him wonder if someone was playing some kind of joke of him. Because how had he gotten so lucky?

For as long as he could, he was going to hold on to this new friendship with Felicity. Because it gave him time. It would let him find a way to unknot his guts and his tongue, give them common ground so he could tell her that he meant it when he said he loved her . . . and that he wanted to have more than friendship with her. 

Felicity was different from any other woman he had ever been interested in. She was the definition of high risk, high reward. Because if he screwed this up, if Felicity didn’t want him . . . he didn’t know if his life would work without her in it. So he had to be cautious, to think before he acted. And being friends with her--a real friend--would help guide him. 

“I can’t eat another bite . . . but it’s so good.” 

The little sigh that Felicity let out, even as she lifted her fork and ate some more, made Oliver smile a little. “How are you going to eat dinner, then?” 

“I’ll find a way. I don’t want to be a bad guest,” Felicity said, smiling as she took one last small bite and sighed again. “What is this?” 

Oliver couldn’t help his smile widening. “Olivier salad. Potatoes, eggs, vegetables and ham in a dressing.” 

She laughed softly. “Oliver, Olivier. You should have some!” Felicity shoved her plate into his hands and then dashed over to the buffet, coming back with a clean fork. “Here you go.” 

And even though Olivier salad was not his favorite закуска, Oliver nodded and ate the rest.

“When do you think dinner will start?” Felicity asked him as he set her plate and his fork on a passing waiter’s tray. 

“I’m not sure . . .” Oliver replied, looking around the room. “Weddings usually last a long time here. So it could be another hour.” 

Felicity nodded and gave him a small smile, when one of the women from last night--Ivanka, Oliver thought--popped up by her elbow.

“Felicity, you come and talk to us a little bit, да?” 

“Oh, okay!” Felicity said, her smile brightening. She turned to Oliver. “I’ll be back.” 

He nodded and watched Felicity walk over to join the group of women she had met at the rehearsal dinner. Sipping from his glass of vodka, he saw Digg fall into place beside him. 

“So you and Felicity seem better. The talk in the car helped?” Digg asked, taking a bite from a deviled egg.

“Yes,” Oliver said, glancing at Digg.

“Thought so,” Digg commented. “Not so awkward now.” 

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “We . . . I tried something new. And it worked out.” 

“Good,” Digg said, sounding pleased. “You two being on the outs, it makes everything feel off.” 

To say he agreed with Digg would be putting it mildly. But there was no reason to say he agreed, because it was Digg--he already knew. So instead, Oliver decided to turn the tables. “Are you thinking about all this?” He gestured around the room, nodding towards the ornate cake in the corner of the room.

“What?” Digg asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You and Lyla. Getting married, now that she’s pregnant . . .” Oliver let his voice trail off, feeling a glimmer of amusement at how Digg reacted. 

“What?” he repeated, his eyes going wide. Then he folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Being married didn’t work out so well for Lyla and me the first time.” 

Oliver smirked. “I don’t know--I’d say it did.” 

“Yeah, well, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Digg commented defensively. “Lyla and I are fine as we are.” 

“Okay,” Oliver said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Whatever you say.” 

Digg gave him a long look. “You’re loving this.” 

“Yep,” Oliver said, smiling at Digg before he glanced over to check on Felicity. 

His friend looked ready to say something about him looking at Felicity when a loud gong was struck and everyone was called to dinner. In the bustle of finding their table and sitting down, Oliver let the conversation come to a natural halt. But in the back of his head, he tucked away a half-formed plan to give Digg a taste of his own medicine.

And he knew just who to recruit to help him, he thought as he smiled at Felicity.

XXX

Halfway through dinner, a шестёрка appeared at Oliver’s elbow. In a low voice, he told Oliver that his presence was requested by the пахан. Surprised, he glanced over at Anatoly, who nodded and tilted his head towards a door along the back wall of the ballroom. 

He told the errand boy he would meet Anatoly, then looked at Digg and Felicity. “Anatoly wants to meet with me.” 

“He does?” Felicity asked, a note of something that sounded like worry in her voice. “Is it . . . business?” 

Even in the midst of his own questions, Felicity made him smile. Her eyes had flicked around them as she spoke, like she was trying to be stealthy, but she just wasn’t able to pull off stealthy. 

“Maybe,” Oliver said, rising from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. He lightly rested his hand on Felicity’s shoulder, feeling her warm, soft skin and taking confidence from it. “A wedding typically isn’t a time for business.” 

She relaxed slightly under his hand. “So this isn’t a Godfather situation? Everyone getting together during the reception and talking about favors?”

Oliver laughed softly. “No. At least, I’m not expecting it to be. But thank you for worrying.” 

“I’ve gotten really good at it over the last two years,” she said, giving him a tart look. Then her cheeks went pink. “I mean, both me and Digg have. Because you do dumb things that make us worry.” 

Hearing that she worried about him--that she was worried now--made him feel light as air. To think, he once thought he didn’t need anyone. Wanted to be alone. 

God, he used to be an idiot. 

“I never do dumb things,” he argued, grinning at her. 

Felicity rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to go there, Oliver. We’ve got a list.” 

“A long one,” Digg commented, his voice amused. But his eyes moved from Oliver’s face to his hand, still resting on Felicity’s shoulder. 

“Well, when I come back, you can tell me all about this list,” Oliver said, keeping his hand where it was and even giving her shoulder a light squeeze before removing his fingers. 

“See you soon,” Felicity said, her cheeks still pink. 

Smiling at both of them, he turned and headed towards the door that Anatoly had indicated, noticing that his friend had already left the head table. As he approached, Yuri nodded to Oliver and knocked lightly on the door before opening it for him. 

“Thank you,” Oliver told Yuri before stepping inside. The room was some kind of office, furnished with several chairs in front of a desk, where the пахан was seated.

Anatoly smiled at him, puffing away on a cigar. “Come, come, мой друг. Have a seat. Cigar?” 

“No, but thank you,” Oliver replied, taking a seat across the desk from Anatoly. “It was a moving ceremony. And so far, the reception has been a lot of fun.” 

“Good, that is what we wanted for all our friends,” Anatoly said, his voice raspy. “Excuse me, I have been talking much today. But I wanted to express my thanks for your service today. Yuri spoke most highly of you.”

Inclining his head to show his thanks, Oliver leaned back in his chair. Sensing that Anatoly had more to say and not wanting to interrupt him.

“I have been a meddler this weekend, I know. You must have been angry with me, so I thank you for your patience.” 

“Not angry, just . . . confused,” Oliver said. “But also willing to admit you were right.” 

His old friend’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Of course I am right, that is why I meddled.”

Chuckling, Oliver shook his head before becoming serious again. “My memories of Russia, of this hotel . . . they are mostly bad. Having my friends with me allowed me to make some good memories.” 

“I am glad to hear that, Oliver.” He took a puff on his cigar before continuing. “Your счастье is very happy tonight. It is good to see, a happy woman. Especially when you know the reason why she is happy.” 

Anatoly’s words made Oliver shift a little in his chair. He could sense that his friend was gearing up for a talk about himself and Felicity, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for such a talk. But to his surprise, Anatoly just smiled. 

“She has been a welcome discovery for you, I think. And I am glad to have met her, and to have had her presence at my wedding. Galina is very taken with her. I believe the two of you will have to return to Russia someday, so that Galina can see her new friend,” Anatoly said. “But enough gossip. You and I, we will talk about your discussion with the head of the Kutaisi clan.” 

Oliver took a breath, using the moment to settle himself. “It . . . it was as you would expect. He doesn’t have much power anymore.”

“No, losing his daughter, the ensuing war with the Tbilisi clan, arguing over the deaths of the two clans’ heirs . . . I do not think he has much longer,” Anatoly said, something like regret in his voice--as well as satisfaction. 

All he could do was nod. Not liking to think about what he had done. But Anatoly had no such compunction.

“Your solution is still talked about. Killing them both, sending the clans into complete turmoil . . . you were ruthless in those days,” Anatoly remarked. But then his voice softened. “But as we get older, we sometimes lose the taste for ruthlessness. I am glad that you were able to summon up that instinct enough today, but even more glad that you will not have to go to that place again on my behalf.” 

“I am grateful for your gift, Anatoly,” Oliver said, his voice choked. “To be given balance . . . I’m very grateful.”

“It is nothing. You have done enough, Oliver. Now, I have kept you long enough--and I want to be back with my bride.” Anatoly stood up, stubbing out his cigar and smiling at Oliver. “Who would think I would marry before you?”

And once again, he was struck by Anatoly’s ability to hold his two lives separate, to know how to lighten a mood or turn deadly serious. He laughed and shook his head. “Honestly, I don't think I'll ever get married.” 

His friend, his пахан, gave him a long look. “Oh, never say never, my friend.” 

Without another word, Anatoly turned and led Oliver out of the office, back into the ballroom and the noise and heat. It was overwhelming, and Oliver’s eyes immediately looked for and found Felicity. 

The conversation with Anatoly was something he would have to think over later, when he was alone and could focus on it. But for now, he wanted to enjoy the rest of the reception with Felicity and John.

And ask Felicity to dance.

XXX

Chuckling softly, Oliver leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his vodka. Beside him, Digg did the same, although he was drinking whiskey. 

“I never woulda guessed the head of the Bratva could cut a rug like that,” Digg commented, gesturing towards Anatoly and Felicity. In the middle of the dance floor, the bearded man was leading Felicity in a very competent waltz. 

Felicity had been very popular during the reception. Digg had been the first to dance with her, but after that, she had been on the floor for nearly every song with a variety of partners. Digg had danced with Galina and a few other women, but most of the time, he had been sitting with Oliver, who had yet to dance. 

Because with how bad a dancer he was, he figured he would only have one chance at it. He didn’t want Felicity to have to find a way to let him down easily, if he asked her to dance and she decided she wanted to save her feet from him. 

That is, if she had any interest in dancing with him at all. 

Oliver rolled his shoulders and took another sip of his drink. It was too easy to fall back into his habits of self-doubt and darkness, thinking he wasn’t worthy of friendship or love. Because of what he had done, it was easy to have that lack of belief in himself. 

Maybe Felicity could help him change that . . . 

The woman in question appeared in front of them, her hand fanning herself. “Whew. I’m pooped.” 

Before Oliver could get to this feet, Digg was standing up. “Take my chair. I’m gonna go give Lyla a call.” 

Well, that was . . . sudden, Oliver thought. And not at all an obvious maneuver to leave him and Felicity alone together.

“They are so great together,” Felicity said, dropping down into Digg’s vacated chair. 

“They are,” he agreed. “I don’t know why they’re not planning to get married again.” 

Felicity immediately turned to face him. “Right? They’re so in love, and they’re having a baby together--I mean, I can understand being gun shy after what happened the first time, but they’re both different people now.” She pushed back a curl that had fallen into her face, then grinned at him. “I’m glad I have someone else who agrees with me on this.” 

_If she only knew_ . . . Oliver was pretty sure if Felicity told him the sky was purple, he would agree with her. 

“You do,” he said, hooking his arm over the back of his chair as he turned to face her. “Have you been enjoying the reception?” 

She nodded, reaching forward and picking up a glass of water from the table. “So much! I didn’t expect to get asked to dance so often. I’m glad Digg and I danced right away.” 

It might be his imagination, but as she sipped some water, she seemed to be looking particularly intently at him over the rim of her glass. Like . . . like she was waiting for him to get a clue. 

His palms felt sweaty. His mouth was dry. His mind went totally blank. And then, Oliver heard himself say, “Felicity . . . would you like to dance with me?”

Slowly, Felicity set down her glass and looked at him for a long moment. His nerves increased exponentially as he waited, and just when he was ready to brush it off and tell her it was okay if she didn't want to, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’d love to.” 

Drawing upon all those dance classes, he rose to his feet, feeling as awkward as a boy at his first dance. He held his hand out to her, and with no hesitation, she took his hand and stood up. 

God, he really liked holding her hand. Her skin was so soft and smooth, unlike his calloused, rough fingers. He looked how it felt like her hand was swallowed up in his. As if he could draw her inside himself and keep her with him always. And she put just the right amount of pressure on his hand: not too loose, not too firm. 

And then they were on the dance floor, and a slow song was playing, and she had stepped into his arms. It was like two puzzle pieces fitting into place, with how her free hand rested on his shoulder, while his other hand settled in place on her lower back. Partly on her dress, partly on her skin--the same skin he had touched this morning when they had woken up together. 

Oliver felt like he might hyperventilate. So he focused on breathing slowly and deeply as they began to move. It was mostly swaying, which he was thankful for. With touching her back and feeling her body move with his, with the fragrance of her shampoo in his nose, with her lips so close to his . . . there was no way he could do actual dance steps. 

The music sounded familiar--an old standard, perhaps. The singer began to croon in Russian, and it took him a moment to translate the words.

_Yes, you're lovely_   
_With your smile so warm_   
_And your cheeks so soft_   
_There is nothing for me but to love you_   
_And the way you look tonight_

Oliver smiled to himself, feeling a knot uncoil inside his chest. Because it was true. He couldn’t do anything but love Felicity. 

“Ouch,” she said softly, and Oliver realized he had stepped on her foot. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, pulling back from her a little. He did his best to smile, trying not to grimace. “Now you know why I didn’t want to dance. I’m lousy at it.” 

Her smile was soft and sweet and downright adorable. “I thought you’d be like Fred Astaire, because of, you know, your night job. And with being Oliver Queen and having to dance at fancy parties when you were growing up. And it's not like I'm Ginger Rogers. But it’s okay. We can be bad dancers together.”

At this moment, Oliver didn’t know how he hadn’t fallen in love with Felicity sooner than he had. Although he had the suspicion he had loved her for a lot longer than he was aware of, and only his own blindness had kept him from realizing it. 

“That’s . . . that’s great,” he said quietly, feeling a smile, a real smile, appear on his face. 

The music kept playing, couples gliding around them, and the buzz of conversation came from all corners of the ballroom. But none of that mattered with Felicity right in front of him, smiling at him.

“Let’s give this another try,” he said, putting his hands on her again. But this time, he drew her in against his chest, closer than before. “We can just sway.” 

“I--I like swaying,” Felicity said, glancing up at him, her eyes warm and bright, her lips red and lush. 

Anything he said would be far too dangerous, so Oliver just gave her a small smile and began moving to the music, both of his arms around her waist now. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she moved with him, and Oliver closed his eyes, feeling like everything was on pause. Right now, he wasn’t the Arrow, his sister wasn’t out of reach, his city wasn’t in danger. He had five minutes that he could spend exactly as he wanted.

And all he wanted was to dance with Felicity. 

A soft puff of air over his Adam’s apple nearly made him shiver, but then Felicity spoke. “If only my prom date could see me now.” 

He waited a moment, wondering if she would tense up or try to distract him from what she had just said. If she would want him to ignore what she had said. But he couldn’t ignore it. “What happened?” he asked, tilting his head down so he could speak into her ear. 

“Oh, he wanted to do all these fancy dance moves, and I couldn’t do them, and he got madder and madder as the night went on. And I didn’t understand what the big deal was. I was more interested in talking with my friends and just having a good time together, not putting on a show,” Felicity said, leaning her head back a little so she could look up at him. 

“I never understood guys like that,” Oliver said idly. 

Felicity laughed. “Oliver, you _were_ a guy like that, back in the day.” 

“No way,” he argued, feeling a grin lift the corners of his mouth. “I put on shows in a lot of places, but never on the dance floor.” 

“What did I tell you?” she asked, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. “If it’s online--”

“You can find it,” he finished. “But I promise you, there is no video of me dancing on the Internet.” Then he frowned a little, since there were a lot of nights in his twenties that it could have happened and he would have no memory of doing so.

Her eyebrow lifted even more and her smile became a smirk. That made him look at her closer. “Felicity--tell me you haven’t found videos of me dancing on the Internet.” 

“Guess you’ll have to keep on my good side until you find out,” she replied airily, before grinning widely. “No, there’s no videos of that.” 

He let himself dramatically relax, which made Felicity giggle. And that made Oliver smile, and all he could think was that if this was what was in store for him as Felicity’s friend, he couldn’t wait for it. 

There was no denying that he loved Felicity. He knew that in his bones. Someday, friendship wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him. He would want more. But by then, they would be ready for more. 

And until then . . . he was going to spend as much time as he could listening to her, learning about her, and making her see that they weren’t unthinkable. 

They were true love. 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know a lot of you are probably a mite . . . annoyed. Frustrated. Peeved. “Why aren’t they together? Why did you put me through all this for nothing?”
> 
> My answer is, it wasn’t for nothing. I was really intrigued with just how Oliver and Felicity got to where they were at the beginning of The Calm: all flirty and intimate, in a way we hadn’t seen before. To me, something had to happen to drive that development--so I wanted to write a canon-compliant fic to explore how they transitioned from being the Arrow and the IT girl to Oliver and Felicity, who were so disgustingly cute together that Digg and Roy were giving each other ‘can you believe these idiots?’ looks in the background. Having it also be a Bratva story was icing on the cake.
> 
> I know this might not be a satisfying ending to some of you, but I hope that now that you’ve heard my reasoning for the fic--an explanation I couldn’t give you until the end--you at least can see that it’s not about me being mean. That first fifteen-twenty minutes of The Calm is just such perfection, I didn’t want to discard it and make my fic AU. Even if the ending wasn’t to your taste, hopefully you found other moments to enjoy in the fic. 
> 
> Whether you liked the ending or not, I’d love to hear from you! And never fear, there’s plenty more fics coming from me in the near future, so if this turned out not to be your glass of vodka, just wait a little while and I’m sure something else I write will work for you. :-)
> 
> A shout-out to so-caffeinated, for helping me pick the song during Oliver and Felicity’s dance and to andcreation for reading this final chapter and calming my nerves. 
> 
> Translations:  
> закуска / закуски: hors d’oeuvres or appetizers  
> шестёрка: errand boy  
> пахан: pakhan--the head of the Bratva  
> мой друг: my friend  
> счастье: happiness, felicity


End file.
